Star Trek: Lower Decks

'The Hawaiian Club'

(Takes place after and before S02E09 'wej Duj')

Fuming, Ensign Boimler jumped into his bunk. Muttering bitterly, he glared a hole through 'denty', imagining the representation of all his failures rather than any particular individual who deserved a mental atomizing.

His restless shifting caught the attention of Ensign Mariner in the lower bunk. "Yo Boims, move around much more and that butt groove's gonna match that forehead groove. What's up?"

Boimler shifted himself to look down at his lower bunkmate. "It's that stupid 'Moon Club' Commander Ransom started. He and a bunch of the crew got together after they all stopped being fake Hawaiians and started being actual Lunar Schooners. They're on the holodeck right now having a barbecue and I couldn't get in because I wasn't 'moon' enough for them."

"Lunar barbecue, huh?" She feigned interest in her PADD. "I didn't know you could barbecue on the Moon. Don't you need oxygen and fire for that, and wouldn't it be like a giant incredible waste of resources on an otherwise airless spheroid?"

Boimler sighed, his shoulders sank. "They all brought their own solar ovens and hydroponically grown herbs and spices. I offered to bring potato salad. Moon potato salad! Ransom was all like, 'Sorry Boimler, it's a moon thing, you wouldn't understand.' And they all laughed! I hate cliques."

Mariner set her PADD down. "Ugh, I know, right? And what kind of name is 'Lunar Schooner'? You hear one Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter use it in some article about the war and next thing you know everyone except actual Lunars is using it. It's so lame."

"Dorky reporters with clunky people names aside, the Moon Club's still pretty cool." Boimler said, whistfully. "Not only are they having fun, they're connecting with Commander Ransom, and you know how far that'll go to getting my next promotion."

"Ugh, noooo!" Marriner rolled her eyes. "Trust me, it always hurts to suck up to the boss. Forget the Moon Club. They're dumb."

"Then I could keep the Hawaiian club going?"

"You mean the one where all the people were outed as being not Hawaiian, including you?"

"Yeah, that might not be a good idea. Hey, how about the California Club?"

"Hell no, because it's lame?"

"Awww, why not! I'm from Modesto, and being a Starfleet brat you must have spent half your life in San Francisco."

"Ugh." She spat in disgust. "It was more like being bounced around on my parent's assignments until they split up and I got bounced around between their assignments, so I wouldn't say San Francisco is my home but more like a place where I could do my laundry."

"Awwwwww, but we could grill danger dogs and do all the fun Hawaiian stuff like surf and hit the beach only better because it's California."

"And swap out volcanic eruptions with earthquakes. I dunno, Boimler. I think we're the only crewmembers who qualify."

"What about the captain?" Boimler innocently suggested.

Mariner's eyes bulged. "Hell no! I share enough activities with her as is. Count me out."

"Yeah, you're right." Boimler said, crestfallen. "I just wish I could share something with a close-knit group of friends."

"You mean like being a lower-decker?" Mariner asked, sarcastically.

"Yeah like that, only cooler!"

"Ugh..." Marriner's eyes rolled to the back of her skull. "You don't need a clique. You'll have plenty more butts to kiss throughout your career."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Yeah, you're right." Boimler settled into his bunk, more relaxed. "Besides, I bet the guy Ransom faked being a Hawaiian to was also a fake Hawaiian."

Some time in the 2370s

"Aloha, Manuele!"

"Jack! My brother!"

A chest bump, high five, and a bear hug later, and the ensign and the big polynesian commander found their way to the bar on a big, tropical beach. It was Luau Day on the USS Sutherland. The Hawaiian crewmembers recreated a 'typical' hawaiian beach party. Lieutenant Afu cut through the waves on his surfboard, while Ensigns Detweiler dove into the simulated sand, barely missing intercepting the volleyball spiked by Ensign Smith. The smell of roast pig and tropical cocktails lured Ransom and Moala to the bar, where they grabbed their drinks.

What surprised the Lieutenant, other than the bag of sweet rolls in Ensign Ransom's hands, was just how strong the big blonde haole was. "Look at you, kid! Not two weeks back from shore leave and your tan returned! Spend some time at Waikiki?"

Ensign Ransom let his bronzed, athletic body show itself off as he removed his hawaiian shirt. "Well, I went to Barcelona first. Learned some guitar. Met some senioritas. Changed my life! But the islands were calling me, so I headed home, worked on my tan, and hit the surf!"

"That's how it's done, brother!" Lieutenant Atoa and Ensign Ransom bumped fists together. "You stickin' around for the barbecue?"

"Yeah, totally!" Ensign Ransom piped up. "But not before get our surf on! Wait here, I'll get our 'boards!"

As the Commander waved the Ensign goodbye, Lieutenant Afu came to the bar, surfboard in hand. He took one look at the overeager Ensign and asked the Commander, "Wait... the kid still doesn't know you're from Samoa?"

Lieutenant Manuele Atoa cracked a smile. "You know, I'm almost tempted to tell him, but look. Everyone's having a good time and we all found something in common. Besides, if we let it out that we're not Hawaiian then my old superior officer's gonna know I was faking it all those years. I didn't learn a fire knife dance for nothing, you know."

Lieutenant Afu shrugged. "I guess you're right. Not like the haoles know the difference."

"Aren't you Tongan?"

"Yeah, so? A feast's a feast. Is that pig ready yet?"

Some time in the 2360's

His first assignment out of the academy, Ensign Atoa oozed nervousness. When he answered a hail from Admiral Nakamura, he tried to make himself as small as possible, an impossible task in his huge polynesian frame.

"Here's the romulan activity report you requested, Admiral Nakamura."

The elderly Admiral, dwarfed by his aide-de-camp, graciously accepted the PADD. "Thank you Ensign."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Ensign Atoa saluted

An amused smile pierced the old man's face on seeing the Ensign's attempt at proper military protocol. "You look like you need to relax, Ensign. It's okay. I'm not half as frightening as everyone makes me out to be."

Manuele nerviously laughed. "Just glad to be here, sir. Also, there's a potential conflict in your schedule. A... luau? That might interfere with Captain Stockman's meeting."

He saw the light turn on in Admiral Nakamura's eyes. Atoa knew something was up, it was a mischievous glint. "Captain Stockman can wait. A few friends of mine are having a little get-together on the station later this evening. It's an exclusive event."

"Oh?" Lieutenant Atoa said.

Nakamura appeared surprised. "You don't know about it? I figured you were a fellow Hawaiian. All of us serving Hawaiians officers are getting together for a little party. If you're from the islands we could get you in..."

Atoa was from Apia, but he didn't want to disabuse the notions of an Admiral. Not to mention this was an incredible opportunity to ingratiate himself.

"Are you kidding me, sir? Of course I'm Hawaiian! I'd love to join!"

"Excellent!" Admiral Nakamura grinned. "See you at 08:00 hours. I'll be bringing my lap steel guitar!"

Some time in the 2320's

Ensign Nakamura, oozing raw nervousness out of his pores, fumbled with Admiral McCoy's stack of medical PADD's.

"My boy, you look like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs." The old doctor saluted with the first PADD he picked up. "You need to loosen up."

"So sorry, Sir." It was Ensign Nakamura's first assignment and it was with one of the legendary officers of the USS Enterprise! Admiral McCoy was Starfleet royalty, and in the presence of the old doctor one young promising ensign from Osaka felt incredibly small. How couldn't he feel nervous in McCoy's presence.

Irascibly, McCoy waved the kid off. "Awww, come on. I'm flesh and blood, just like you, and I've dug around enough flesh and blood to know we're all the same underneath. Relax. This old country doctor's all bark and no bite."

Admiral McCoy's gentile country manner of speaking to the ensign put Nakamura at ease. "Sorry Sir. First assignment. It's an honor."

"Hogwash. Honor's for Klingon's. Here, we rely on the close, brotherly bonds of service and duty. Tell me kid, what do you do for fun?"

Ensign Nakamura stammered, "I don't know, sir. I suppose I like mystery novels?"

"That's all well and good, but I'm talking about fun. As in outside of the hours I'm running you ragged. As in with other people."

Nakamura had to think a moment. He didn't socialize all that much outside of academy mixers and the occasional visit to the starbase bar. "Ummm... I haven't had much time to socialize, Sir."

"That's too bad, 'cause if you're gonna go far in your career you gotta learn how to socialize, make connections!" McCoy slapped the desk. "And I know just the thing to unbunch your boxer shorts, son."

"Sir?"

"You see, tonight a bunch of the Hawaiian crew are having a luau. They do it every few months, you see. Only true Hawaiians can attend, and yours truly has been attending since my days on the Enterprise."

"Sir, aren't you from Georgia?"

Admiral McCoy gave a wink. "Here's a little secret, son. If you want a get into a good party and start building some honest to goodness connections, you gotta learn how to fit in. Just say you're from... Oahu or something, bring 'em some spam, drop a few local words and talk about how much you like beaches, and you'll be in like a Hawaiian dirt shirt. That's what I've been doing, and nobody's carded me yet. I'll take you over there tonight. Are you in or not?"

"Well..."

Some time in the 2260s

"Sorry, doc! Hawaiians only!"

McCoy's eyes flared up in his usual quick-tempered way. "That's a load of bull, Jim! Why I saw you walk in not five minutes ago with a grilled pineapple in one hand and a floozy in a bikini in the other, and you're the most corn-fed mid-westerner I know!"

"Awwww, come on, lighten up Bones!" James, well socially lubricated and sans pineapple and floozy, grabbed McCoy by the shoulders. "Where's your sense of adventure? All we need to do to get into this locals only party is say we're one of the locals! Then we'll be up to our necks in babes, booze, and bacon!"

Sourly, McCoy remarked, "Yeah, only there's one problem." He stabbed a thumb towards his rear. "Mr. Funtimes doesn't lie."

"As I am Vulcan and Vulcans do not lie." Spock stated.

"Which is why Mr. Spock is gonna keep quiet so he doesn't spoil our gatecrashing attempts like he did at Starbase 25. Follow my lead, guys. Paradise awaits."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "More like the business end of a polynesian fist awaits... wait, is that Admiral Archer?"

Some time in the 2150s

"So I was thinking of mixing things up." Captain Jonathan Archer paused to pluck a piece of cheese off his plate while T'pol wasn't looking. Not detecting a shift in her attention, or the mask of disapproval that went with her Vulcan face, slipping the forbidden treat to Porthos was a success. "Instead of movie night this week we should try something different."

"Maybe a party." Commander Tucker facetiously added.

"I have observed that humans require more recreational time and socialization than Vulcans." T'pol added. "A 'party' would temporarily improve crew efficiency."

Crewman Daniels removed Commander Tucker's plate, replacing it with a slice of pecan pie. "We could prepare something, Sir. A mixer, a potluck, even a luau if you wanted."

"A luau..." Trip nodded slowly. "Get some torches, decorate the mess hall with some tiki statues, throw in a roast pig... I like the idea of that."

"I don't know." Archer said. "Sure you want to do that? Not a lot of luaus in Florida."

"Not many in California either." Trip countered.

Crewman Daniels, sensing an opportunity, spoke up. "Sirs, I can do it?"

"You can?" Trip asked.

"Why not?" Crewman Daniels smile broadened as he spoke with confidence. "I'm from Hawaii myself..."

FIN