|
{Two farmers walk through cornfield.}
FARMER TED: Are you sure there's nobody around
here? I don't wanna get caught.
FARMER FRED: Positive. I own fifty acres in
every direction. No neighbors.
FARMER TED: I thought I heard something.
FARMER FRED: Just the wind rustlin' the corn.
We're all alone. I promise.
FARMER TED: Good. {turns to face FRED. TED's
skin abruptly mottles and turns green. His fingers elongate
like tentacles and wrap around FRED's neck. FRED oops, acks,
gasps, and passes out. TED drops him as a ship plummets from
the sky and slams into the cornfield. KLAANG crawls from the
wreckage and looks around.}
KLAANG: ARRRRRRR!
{TED begins to run towards KLAANG, clothes
morphing into the orange jumpsuit.}
KLAANG: qaStaH nuq? p'taQ! Hab SoSlI' Quch!
{A violent explosion rocks the cornfield.
KLAANG goes flying. TED is chunky green salsa.}
FARMER MAGGOT {clutching plasma grenade launcher}:
I told you damn hobbits to stay out of my mushrooms!
ADMIRAL LEONARD: So, I've been looking over
your past record. Quite...colorful.
ARCHER: Oh, I know, but that is so totally
in the past. Yesterday's news. Obsolete. Really. Nothing like
that is going to happen here. {skitters away}
ADMIRAL LEONARD: Damn shame. I was just going
to complement him on the writing, directing, and acting of
Quantum Leap.
{Starfleet Medical. A group of Vulcans is
standing around glaring quietly while PHLOX and his assistants
work on KLAANG in the surgical room, separated from the outer
room by glass walls. Starfleet Admirals are muttering in another
corner. ARCHER enters.}
ARCHER: So, what's the sitch?
SOVAL: The... sitch?
T'POL: A small golden ball with wings. Its capture
by a player called "the Seeker" signals the end
of the match in an aggressive aerial team sport named "Quidditch."
Each team consists of --
ARCHER: I said the sitch. The situation.
What's going on?
ADMIRAL FORREST: This alien crashed in a cornfield
in Oklahoma --
ARCHER: Is he the same guy who's been leaving
those crop circles all over Bucks County?
SOVAL: His corpse will need to be returned to
his homeworld for burial. His House is already sitting shiva.
ARCHER {furrowing his brown in concern}:
His corpse? He's not dead yet.
T'POL: No, but he will be soon. If we send him
now, he'll be just dead by the time he arrives on Qo'noS.
{ARCHER bangs on the window. PHLOX glances
up, then smiles that horrendous CGI smile. Fortunately, it's
mostly hidden by the surgical mask.}
PHLOX {slightly muffled}: Ah, Captain
Archer! You've arrived. Your shuttle made excellent time.
I'm just about finished here. I'll be with you shortly.
ARCHER: Is he dead yet?
SOVAL: Not far now.
ARCHER {glaring over his shoulder}: Morbid
much?
ADMIRAL FORREST: I think that's his point, Jon.
SOVAL {to T'POL}: What is their
fascination with our ears?
ARCHER: You prob'ly think that song is about
you, don't you?
{PHLOX exits the surgical room, stripping
off gloves and mask.}
PHLOX: The next 24 hours will be critical, but
I believe Mister Klaang will pull through.
ADMIRAL FORREST: Doctor, that's wonderful! Thank
you!
SOVAL: Damn. I mean, your work was adequate
to the task.
ARCHER: Whatever. Doc, can you tell me what's
going on?
PHLOX: Certainly. This way, please. {They
start to walk to a door opposite where ARCHER entered.}
SOVAL: Where are you going?
PHLOX: We have matters to discuss.
SOVAL: So, discuss them here! Leaving a perfectly
good room to have a conversation is illogical. Plus my ears
aren't that goo-- I mean, your species is volatile and irrational
and you are in need of our guidance.
PHLOX: You'll be apprised of all pertinent information.
SOVAL {stepping forward}: How about a
prize Vulcan?
PHLOX: Very well. Subcommander, would you join
us? {SOVAL blinks. T'POL follows PHLOX and ARCHER into
a waiting room, where TRIP, MALCOLM, HOSHI, and TRAVIS are
sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs. All four stand as
ARCHER, T'POL, and PHLOX enter.}
ARCHER: Now, you were saying?
PHLOX: You think it's coincidence, your being
here, at the moment that Klingon was captured? Klaang was
only the beginning.
ARCHER: Yeah, I think that's why they call it
"the pilot."
PHLOX: Into each generation a Captain is born,
one person in all the world, a chosen one, one born with the
strength and skill to lead the flagship, with the charisma
to get the babe of the week, the...
ARCHER {interrupting}: ...Babe of the
week, Chosen One, yeah, yeah, lead humanity to the next step
in their evolution, jewel of the network, blah blah, I know
the drill. The rest of my crew is already here to save valuable
exposition time. So you're, what, the Observer?
PHLOX: I work for the Interspecies Medical Exchange.
ARCHER: But you're not human?
PHLOX: I am a Denobulan. In our society, each
man has three wives, and each woman has three husbands. And
if that isn't enough action, they're pretty friendly with
whomever's in groping range, too.
ARCHER: Right. The Observer.
TRIP: Sorry, didn't have exact change for the
fare on the Metabus. Break that down for me?
ARCHER: Phlox is the "alien observer"
whose purpose on the show is to comment on and reflect humanity's
foibles from the outside.
T'POL: So what am I, chopped sehlat?
HOSHI: Demographic Magnet.
TRIP: Potential love interest for all --
MALCOLM: -- actual shagging for none.
ARCHER {chagrined and a little embarrassed}:
Oh, T'Pol, I'm sorry, You can observe if you want. It's just
that traditionally the "Observer" character wants
to or winds up becoming human in some way, and you're a Vulcan,
and you're all... y'know... {T'POL cocks an eyebrow}...
logicky and stuff. I didn't think you, um, played for that
team. Which is fine! I mean, it's fine with me. If you do.
Play for that team. Or the other team. Totally okay with me.
Whatever. IDIC and all that.
PHLOX {rolling eyes}: If we could get
on with it, please? {The crew fidgets and snickers but
eventually pays attention.} Now, things are getting worse.
Battles being fought for no reason. There's unrest in the
Klingon Empire. Factions are being stirred up against one
another. There's a reason you're here, there's a reason you're
assigned to Enterprise, and there's a reason it's now.
ARCHER: Oh, I know! I know! It's because my
father built the engines, right?
PHLOX: Right. -- no, no, that's wrong, that's
not it at all. It's --
T'POL: Name recognition. Nobody else in this
room besides him and my breasts has any Q score.
PHLOX: You're right. It's because your daddy
built the engines. {ARCHER makes a "yes!" gesture
and exchanges high-fives with TRIP.} Now please, it's
very important that you listen to me. Soon, in a matter of
days, something will be coming to try and take Klaang. You've
got to stop it from happening.
ARCHER: Great! Carpe diem! Let's go, gang! {The
humans pile out, talking excitedly -- except for TRAVIS, who
never speaks -- leaving T'POL and PHLOX behind.}
PHLOX: But wait -- the Temporal Cold War --
Daniels -- I have to --
T'POL: Being the Chosen One means never having
to say you're sorry.
{ARCHER and TRIP are having coffee in ARCHER's
quarters.}
TRIP: So, we're really goin' to Qo'noS, huh?
ARCHER: It won't take long. Four days each way.
TRIP: And you brought him because... {They
both turn to the corner, where PORTHOS is dozing on his cushion.}
ARCHER: Well, I'm not comfortable leaving him
alone -- since Al left me for his own series there's really
nobody I can ask to watch him --
{The doorbell sounds. Before ARCHER can respond,
T'POL enters.}
T'POL {handing ARCHER a PADD}: I have
been officially transferred to your command. Sir.
ARCHER: "Sir" is acceptable in a crunch,
but I prefer Captain. Or Sam. Or "my round-eared muffin."
T'POL: Captain, what is that disgusting smell?
TRIP {sniffing his demitasse}: You don't
like espresso?
T'POL: I prefer Chai tea, but I was referring
to the other smell.
ARCHER: What, Porthos? {PORTHOS awakens and
lifts his head at the sound of his name.} C'mere and introduce
yourself, boy.
{PORTHOS stands, stretches, yawns, and morphs
into a young man with sharp features, green eyes, and spiky
blond hair. He walks over to T'POL.}
ARCHER {cheerfully}: Shake, Porthos!
PORTHOS {raising his hand in the Vulcan salute}:
Mene sakkhet ur-seveh, Subcommander. I am called Porthos.
T'POL: How did you do that?
PORTHOS: We're out in space. Without an atmosphere,
the sunlight reflected off Terra's natural satellite isn't
filtered, so I can change at will.
TRIP: What happens when we leave orbit?
PORTHOS: I'm stuck in whichever shape I'm in
until the next planet with a moon.
ARCHER: Oh, by the way, your agent called. Something
about a show with a mix of live action and puppets.
PORTHOS: Puppets?
ARCHER: Eugene Levy's already signed.
PORTHOS: Oh, in that case, I'm in. He's hilarious.
T'POL: Excuse me, I have to call everyone I
have ever met, right now.
{Bridge.}
ARCHER: Okay, places everyone! T'Pol?
T'POL: Here at the science station. Just setting
precedent for something which has already happened.
MALCOLM: That's not very logical.
T'POL: Neither is a human male wearing excessive
lipstick, but I was politely not pointing that out. {MALCOLM
finds his hanky and hastily rubs at his mouth.}
ARCHER: Hoshi?
HOSHI: Got my little silver earpiece thingy,
my XM satellite receiver, and SYSTRANsoft booted up. Ready
to roll.
ARCHER: Malcolm?
MALCOLM {stuffing hanky back in his pocket}:
Tactical is ready, sir. We're armed for bear.
T'POL: Our course does not take us through either
of those constellations.
MALCOLM {irritated}: Would you rather
see my elephant gun, pet?
T'POL: We're not going there either, Stinky.
ARCHER {pressing a button on his armrest}:
Trip?
HESS {over the comm from Engineering}:
He had to pee, sir. He'll be back in just a moment.
ARCHER: All right, never mind. {hits a different
button} Doctor Phlox?
PHLOX {over the comm from Sickbay}: These
Klingons have a fascinating culture. Did you know that when
the male wishes to mate with the female, he has to read love
poetry to her while she throws things at him?
ARCHER: Gives "poetry slam" a whole
new meaning. Thank you, Doctor. {hits button to turn comm
off} Travis? {TRAVIS waves.} All right then. Take
her out. And please don't scrape the hull along the side of
Spacedock.
MALCOLM: By Grabthar's hammer, sir, Travis knows
how to fly. He's been in space longer than any of us. Except
maybe the elf with the overactive thyroid at Science.
T'POL: I would resent that, but I think Legolas
is hot.
{The Suliban Helix temporal chamber. FUTURE
GUY is talking to SILIK through the Temporal Interference
Field.}
FUTURE GUY: Where's Klaang? You promised me
an offering.
SILIK: I had him, Master, but... there was a
Captain!
FUTURE GUY: A Captain? A new Chosen One?
SILIK: Yes, Master. Tall of stature and furrowed
of brow. Decent of rear view, too.
FUTURE GUY: Have you any proof?
SILIK: I saw him leaving the toupée shop
myself.
FUTURE GUY: This... Captain must not
be allowed to interfere in our plans.
SILIK: We had Klaang in our grasp, when one
of the stupid little Earth folk came out of the middle of
nowhere, murdered my soldier, and seized your offering.
FUTURE GUY: Life can be such a trial sometimes.
Where is the Klingon now?
SILIK: The Captain has him. They're returning
him to his homeworld.
FUTURE GUY: Recover him. And pray that when
you do... {The field crackles and shimmers.} ...I'm
in a better mood.
SILIK: You know, most people just eat chocolate
when they're having a bad day. Ben & Jerry's has this
great new ice cream flavor, "Brownie Batter." Maybe
you should pick up a pint.
FUTURE GUY: I wish I could, but you know how
the Temporal Interference Field always adds ten pounds.
SILIK: Tell me about it! And these jumpsuits?
They show every potato chip I've had in the last five years.
{TRIP and TRAVIS are crawling through a Jeffries
tube. They reach the end and clamber out into the junction.
TRIP takes a panel off and glares at the wires.}
TRIP {doing bad Jimmy Cagney impression;
sounds more like a Bugs Bunny villain}: So, you thought
you could outsmart me, eh? Thought you were a big shot, eh?
{his normal voice} Hand me that microcaliper, would you,
Trav? {TRAVIS digs through the box and hands him the instrument.}
So you're a "boomer," right? Been to all kind of
planets?{TRAVIS nods.}...That is so cool. Ah've only
been to one inhabited planet besides Earth... nothin' there
but souvenir shops sellin' little pieces of whale blubber
in lucite and a restaurant where the cow walks up and asks
you what piece'a her you want for dinner. Kinda boring. Screwdriver?
{TRAVIS waits.} Sorry, hex head. {He produces the correct
tool.} Don't you ever talk?
{Suddenly the ambient lighting goes down
and a spotlight shines on the helmsman. TRAVIS puts down the
toolbox and pulls out a black silk top hat and a cane. Music
swells out of nowhere.}
TRAVIS {high-stepping and singing}: Hello
my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal...
{TRIP stares, mouth open in astonishment. The screwdriver
falls from his hand.}
TRIP: You talk! You sing! You dance!
TRAVIS: Send me a kiss by wiiiiiiiiiiire; baby
my heart's on fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiire!
TRIP: Ah gotta tell somebody! Holy catfish!
{leans down the Jeffries tube} Hess! Rostov! You gotta
come see this!
TRAVIS: If you refuse me, honey, you'll lose
me, then you'll be left aloooooooooooooooone...
HESS {yelling back}: Coming!
TRAVIS:...oh baby, telephone, and tell me I'm
your oooooooooooooooown!
{HESS and ROSTOV come out of the tube. Before
they can stand, the lights have reverted to normal.}
ROSTOV: What is it, Commander?
TRIP: Travis can talk! He was just singing!
{TRAVIS's hat and cane have mysteriously disappeared. He
looks up, questioning.}
HESS: Oh, good one, Commander.
TRIP: No really! Ah mean it! {turns to TRAVIS}
Trav, show'em! Show'em what you just did! {TRAVIS blinks.}
The song! You were just singin' a song! {mimics the
cane movements} "Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello
my..." {trails off}
HESS {rolling eyes}: Whatever.
ROSTOV: I told you it was a drill. Lieutenant
Reed's been running the Armory staff ragged all day with "battle
simulations." {They climb back out.}
TRIP: No wait! Ah'm serious! Guys!... {realizes
they've left. Turns and shoots a nasty look at TRAVIS.}
Thanks. {TRAVIS gives him a big bright smile and hands
him the screwdriver.}
{ARCHER exits Sickbay, muttering to himself.}
ARCHER: Of all the doctors in the IME, I get
the one who prefers macrobiotics to microchips. "I'll
have one of my assistants wrest some information from that
dread machine," he says. If I had a nickel for every
time --
DANIELS {finishing his sentence}: --
for every time someone insulted Ziggy, you could have retired
to Jamaica by now.
ARCHER {frowning}: Who are you?
DANIELS: Let's just say... I'm a friend.
ARCHER: You look like you could stand to make
friends with GQ. What do you call that look, early
Michelin Man?
DANIELS: I'll have you know this is haute couture
in my day.
ARCHER: I hope I never live to see the
day when's that's haute stuff.
DANIELS: That's more easily arranged than you
realize.
ARCHER: Waitaminute, I recognize you. You're
not supposed to be in the pilot.
DANIELS: I know, but I'm doing research for
my later appearances.
ARCHER: Research?
DANIELS: Nothing serious, just interning with
Chef to familiarize myself with your breakfast preferences.
ARCHER: Oh, that's all right, then.
DANIELS: Plus someone had to fill in the "Angel"
character slot, and Buffy has more people with lines
than your show does.
ARCHER {shrugs}: It's a union thing.
Wait until Buffy comes over to our network. The number
of NPC speaking parts will go way down.
DANIELS: Understood. Good luck with the rest
of your mission.
ARCHER: Thanks. Can you give me any, you know,
hints about the future?
DANIELS: Well, Jeffrey Combs is going to be
able to afford that Lexus he was looking at.
{Captain's Mess.}
ARCHER: Farfalle pesto, Trip?
TRIP: Don't mind if Ah do. {takes the bowl
and spoons some onto his plate} Subcommander, would you
like some ricotta salata?
T'POL: Yes, thank you. {She holds out her
plate. TRIP grates the cheese onto the pasta.}
ARCHER: Remind me -- what was the purpose of
this scene?
TRIP: To establish the Food Chain, and for T'Pol
and Ah to insult each other.
T'POL: Your species is impatient and illogical,
and Chef has overcooked the roast beef.
ARCHER: Oh, that was Daniels. Sorry.
TRIP: Your people are prejudiced and close-minded,
and don't expect dessert unless you clean your plate.
T'POL: What's for dessert?
ARCHER: Amaretti and gelato.
T'POL: I'm eating, I'm eating.
{Bridge. T'POL is talking to someone in Vulcan
on her cell phone while she's working at her station.}
T'POL {on phone}: ...so I walk in and
there's this smell, right? And I'm all, "What
is that stench?" And he's all "Ah took a shower
this morning; how 'bout you, Cap'n?" And I'm like "Not
you, you hairless primate, the other lower life-form."
{giggles}
HOSHI {in English}: I thought you were
supposed to speak English on this mission.
T'POL {in Vulcan}: Hang on a sec.
{to HOSHI in English} Excuse me? Do I horn in on your
private discussions? No. Why? Because you're boring. {HOSHI
looks away, embarrassed. ARCHER looks up, but he didn't catch
the exchange. T'POL returns to her conversation in Vulcan.}
So then the dog gets up off the pillow and -- get this --
he totally shapeshifts. Into a guy! {punches more buttons}
Stupid human interface. What? No, it's this primitive computer
system. It's like trying to construct a mnemonic circuit using
stone knives and bearskins.
PHLOX {over the comm}: Captain, our patient
is regaining consciousness.
ARCHER: On my way. {Stands.} Hoshi?
T'POL {in English to HOSHI as she passes}:
How do I send this report to the Vulcan High Command?
HOSHI: 'Deliver.'
T'POL: Deliver? Where's that? {searches the
keyboard} Oh! Thanks.... hey, wait a minute, the whole
thing just disappeared!
{Sickbay. KLAANG is strapped to a biobed
and ranting in Klingon. ARCHER, HOSHI, PHLOX, and a REDSHIRT
with a proto-BetsyBoomstick are gathered around him.}
KLAANG: nuqDaq 'oH puchpa''e'? nuqDaq 'oH
puchpa''e'??
ARCHER: What's he saying?
HOSHI: Something like "Right in my EV suit?"
KLAANG: Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!
ARCHER: Tell him we're taking him home.
HOSHI: maH jaH Dung ngem juH.
KLAANG {groaning}: ghuy'cha'!
HOSHI: I think it's a proper name... "Jerry
Shiban"?
ARCHER: Tell him his ship was destroyed, but
the insurance company promised the check will be here in three,
four weeks tops.
PHLOX: I don't believe that was the adjuster's
estimate.
ARCHER {waving}: Hello? Who's the Captain
here? Tactics, Doctor. You have think strategically.
PHLOX: Oh, right, right, Klingons have a great
love of boasting and exaggeration. You're correct. Pardon
my intrusion.
HOSHI: jIH Ho' yuch chor. jIH naj vut quHvaj.
KLAANG: jIH qoy' Hegh'bat! mev be'joy'!
HOSHI: Um.
ARCHER: What?
HOSHI: Sir, I think he just made a pass at you.
ARCHER {looking pleased}: Really? Boy,
the Vulcans, the Klingons... they weren't kidding about this
"Chosen One gets all the babes" stuff.
KLAANG: mevyap!
{The ship lurches violently. Everyone jolts
in different directions, regardless of inertia. The lights
flicker and go out. Reaction shots of various crew members
as consoles shut down, including T'POL and MALCOLM looking
alarmed on the Bridge, TRIP running about frantically in Engineering,
HESS and ROSTOV playing cards with PORTHOS, and TRAVIS in
a muscle shirt lifting 50-pound dumbbells in the gym.}
ARCHER {slapping his chest}: Bridge,
report. {Nothing happens. HOSHI and PHLOX stare at the
Captain for a long moment.} Oh, right, damn, we can't
do that yet. {runs to wall comm and punches button}
Bridge, report.
T'POL: Captain, we've dropped out of warp. Main
power is -- {the comm goes out}
ARCHER: T'Pol? T'Pol? {punches button repeatedly}
T'Pol? {bangs fist on wall} We were supposed to have
service all the way to Qo'noS! That's why we switched to Verizon!
{turns to HOSHI} Get me Customer Service! I'm having
this taken off our bill!
{Bridge.}
MALCOLM: What was that?
T'POL: What was what?
MALCOLM: I thought I saw something -- only for
a moment, then the moment was gone.
T'POL: Must've been your entire life flashing
before your eyes.
{Sickbay. The main cast has little flashlights.
KLAANG continues to bitch in Klingon.}
ARCHER: Can someone get him to shut up, please?
HOSHI: bIjatlh 'e' yImev! {KLAANG falls silent.}
PHLOX {impressed}: You picked Klingonaase
up rather quickly, Ensign.
HOSHI {holding up PADD}: I bookmarked
kli.org before the power went down.
ARCHER: I'm going to the Bridge. {bumps into
REDSHIRT} Oh, sorry.
REDSHIRT: That's all right... Captain. {morphs
into Suliban and cracks ARCHER upside the head with the rifle}
ARCHER: Ooof! {ARCHER'S beacon goes flying.
HOSHI screams like a twelve-year-old.}
KLAANG: Vampires! -- I mean, Suliban! -- I mean,
mevyap!
{PHLOX and HOSHI desperately try to light
up the fighters so ARCHER can see what he's hitting. Two more
Suliban are intermittently visible in the jumpy beams.}
ARCHER: You shifting types are all alike.
{punches Suliban in the face; he goes down and stays there}
You always stall when you floor it.
HOSHI: Look out! Behind you! {Another Suliban
leaps from the shadows and lands on ARCHER's back. He flips
the Suliban over, then piledrivers into his stomach.}
ARCHER: Can you smell what the Chosen One is
cooking?
PHLOX: I should never have agreed to switching
networks. These cross-promotions are so lame.
{ARCHER dives across the room, grabs the
rifle, sits up, and blasts the Suliban leaping on him. Everything
is very quiet for a moment as everyone blinks, trying to adjust
their eyes after the huge burst of light.}
HOSHI: Ow.
{The lights come up and systems come back
online. The dead Suliban is sprawled over the Pyrithian bat's
cage. She's inside whimpering "ew! ew! ew!"}
PHLOX {blinking}: Is everyone all right?
ARCHER: That all depends on what the meaning
of "is" is. {All turn to see the biobed is empty,
and the remaining Suliban are gone.}
{Bridge. ARCHER is ranting. In English.}
ARCHER:...and while you two were having a FaceFinityOff,
the Kelly Chameleons broke into Sickbay and kidnapped Klaang!
MALCOLM {discreetly wiping spittle off his
face}: I did detect something, sir, but...faint.
TRIP: We have a couch for that.
ARCHER: Trip, get me an analysis of Mister Reed's
"faint" problem.
TRIP: Dammit, Jon, Ah'm an engineer, not a doctor.
ARCHER: What's our weapons status?
MALCOLM: We kick arse.
ARCHER: Good. Hoshi, I want you to -- wait,
we do?
MALCOLM: Of course we do. Did you think I was
going to wait until Tuesday to have our targeting scanners
tuned? We can blast the snot out of anything in fifty parsecs.
ARCHER: Wow, we're shattering continuity like
a diva with a wine glass. Go help Trip, then. {TRIP and
MALCOLM exit.} Okay, Hoshi, get back online and find out
what Klaang was yelling about.
HOSHI: I already posted on the KLI BBS, sir.
I should have an answer shortly.
ARCHER: Good. Keep me advised. {T'POL is
waiting to speak.} Was there something else, Subcommander?
T'POL: For the record, sir, I use EsT'ée
Lauder and Mister Reed prefers Revlon. To object to a Max
Factor product is illogical.
ARCHER: Those department store brands are really
expensive, T'Pol. You should try Maybelline.
T'POL: I will consider it. In the meantime,
you've lost the Klingon --
ARCHER: "Misplaced."
T'POL: -- so there is no reason for Enterprise
to be out here any longer. We should return to San Francisco.
ARCHER: Why, did you leave your heart there?
{Everyone on the Bridge stops and stares at ARCHER. The
background music clatters to a halt. Crickets can be heard.
ARCHER looks around, uncomfortable.} What? Just because
it's an old joke... {After a long beat, the music starts
again, and everyone slowly resumes their positions.}
T'POL {edging towards the turbolift}:
I think I'll go ask Commander Tucker what brand he recommends.
|
