|
{ARCHER's quarters. ARCHER is lying on his
bed, leg bandaged, watching a water polo game. PORTHOS, in
beagle form, has torn open the corner of a Velveeta box and
is about a third of the way through the loaf.}
ARCHER {cheering a play}: Yeaaaaaaah!
All right!
T'POL {over comm}: T'Pol to Captain Archer.
{ARCHER grabs the remote and pauses the game.
He hunkers down in bed and clears his throat before hitting
the button to answer, in a weak voice.}
ARCHER: Archer here.
T'POL: If you're feeling well enough to come
to the Bridge, Captain, now would be a good time.
ARCHER: Well... I'm still a little woozy...
MALCOLM {over comm in background}: Bollocks.
He's watching water polo again.
ARCHER {sitting up}: Well, actually,
I'm starting to feel better. I'll be there shortly. Archer
out.
{Bridge.}
MALCOLM: I told you. {makes a "gimme
gimme" gesture}
T'POL: Can I give it to you Thursday when we
get paid?
MALCOLM: Plus ten percent interest.
HOSHI: And don't welsh on him either.
MALCOLM: Actually, my family's all from the
Midlands.
HOSHI: Subcommander, I'm getting a subspace
message.
T'POL: From whom?
HOSHI: A Lieutenant Paris. Something about damages
to his shuttle from the Suliban. He wants us to pay his insurance
deductible.
T'POL: Send him an apology and ask if he'll
accept PayPal.
{ARCHER enters, limping slightly.}
ARCHER: Got anything?
MALCOLM: The sinking feeling that your love
of water polo is going to be your lone character trait for
a long while.
ARCHER: Then be grateful I didn't pick dwarf-tossing.
HOSHI {in a gruff voice}: "Don't
tell the elf." {All laugh.}
T'POL: It appears we've located the Suliban
ship.
{On the viewscreen is an orange planet with
a swirling black spot -- sort of an alternate Jupiter. Small
buoys with repeating runway lights create a path from orbit
through the atmosphere leading directly to the dark blotch.
From a small probe, a large hand with a white cartoon glove
extends, holding up a blinking neon sign with an arrow reading
"THEY WENT THATAWAY.")
ARCHER: Boy, you could cut the suspense with
a knife.
MALCOLM: And spread it on a scone.
ARCHER {taking the Big Chair, tugging on
his uniform top, and crossing his legs}: Red alert. Shields
up, Mister Reed. Helm, take us in at one-quarter impulse.
HOSHI: Sir, you did it again.
ARCHER {slamming his fist on the armrest}:
Dammit! I knew I overprepared for this role. Can I have a
do-over?
T'POL: Of course. {All nod agreement.}
{ARCHER gets up and jogs a few steps back
towards the turbolift. He faces the viewscreen.}
ARCHER {puffing up his chest and over-reciting}:
I believe we've found what we're looking for: Planet Hellmouth.
Malcolm, polarize the hull plating. Travis, lay in a sixty-degree
vector. We're going in. And Hoshi, send Trip a memo to remind
him to fix that scraping thing in the turbolift.
{Helix temporal chamber. FUTURE GUY is talking
to SILIK through the Temporal Interference Field.}
FUTURE GUY: They escaped? They walked free when
I should be quaffing Klingon blood right now? Careless...
SILIK: Master, we had them trapped!
FUTURE GUY: Oh, are you going to make excuses?
Something about...{sneers} sunrise? {SILIK doesn't
answer.} You're weak. It's been too long since you faced
a Captain. But no matter. They won't stop me.
SILIK: Master, I can bring them here, to you,
so you may dispose of them as you please.
FUTURE GUY: How?
SILIK: I have something they want. {holds
up a pair of pointy headphones} They'll come here, and
we'll destroy them. Sarin's message will never reach the Chancellor.
FUTURE GUY: And I'll have a pair of really cool
headphones. Good deal. {The Temporal Interference Field
turns off. SILIK is alone.}
SILIK: Yes, I'll bring him here... but you may
find your vessel has a leak.
{Bridge.}
T'POL: The planet has a layered atmosphere.
Each layer has a different density.
ARCHER: Oooh, like tri-colors? I love those.
T'POL: More like Dante.
ARCHER: I don't love that so much.
T'POL: It's going to be a rough ride.
HOSHI: And Starfleet abolished seatbelts why?
ARCHER {frowns, leans over and stage-whispers}:
Turn on the mag-locks in your boots.
HOSHI: Oh! {leans down and flips a switch
on either side} I didn't realize those were our stabilizers.
ARCHER {sitting back up straight}: How
else is the captain supposed to pace in a crisis?
T'POL: That actually explains a lot about your
posture and gait.
{The ship lurches hither and yon. The crew
jolts but stays seated.}
T'POL: Almost through.
{The ship bursts into to a blue level.}
HOSHI: This must be the Smurf Layer.
ARCHER: Or the Picassosphere.
{More shaking and jolting and one thirty-second
interval of teeth-rattling shivers. They burst through to
a layer of white pockmarked with black circles.}
ARCHER: What the hell...?
{A yellow submarine swoops out of one hole
and putters by. The four moptops and one elderly gentleman
inside wave gaily.}
MALCOLM {singing under his breath}: And
we live a life of ease, ev'ry one of us has all we need, Andorians
blue, and Vulcans green, in our yellow, submarine...
{The submarine disappears into another hole.
The ship continues downward and emerges in a clear although
liquid atmosphere.}
T'POL: Probability factor of one to one. We
have normality, I repeat, we have normality. Anything you
still can't cope with is therefore your own problem. Please
relax.
MALCOLM: Two ships on sensors. Small and fast.
HOSHI: Something else on sensors, large and
not moving.
ARCHER: A bird in the hand, yadda yadda. Can
you zoom in?
{HOSHI increases the magnification on the
Helix. Cell ships come and go like bees.}
ARCHER {rubbing his hands together}:
Now, where's my boy?
T'POL: Isn't it a little early for that?
ARCHER {rolling his eyes and glaring at T'POL}:
I meant Klaang.
MALCOLM: It's definitely too early for
that.
ARCHER {holding hands out to HOSHI desperately}:
Hoshi?
HOSHI: Hey, whatever blows your skirt up, Captain.
I'm not here to judge. It's all good.
ARCHER {pinching the bridge of his nose}:
Travis, for the love of god, can you use the sensors to find
Klaang in that thing? {TRAVIS hits a few buttons, then
turns and shakes his head.}
MALCOLM: Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
No damage. Incoming! {The ship jolts again.}
HOSHI: Can't we arrange for some "outgoing"?
TRIP {over comm}: Cap'n! Ma wee bairns
cannae take much more!
ARCHER: Keep your kilt on, Commander.
T'POL: I suggest we return to the Neverland
layer.
MALCOLM: That's "Pepperland," Subcommander.
"Neverland" is inhabited by pale pedophiliac freaks
with fake noses, tattooed eyeliner, and abnormally high-pitched
voices. Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
T'POL: Ew! So very not. You're right, I meant
Pepperland.
ARCHER: Travis, take us up.
{The ship moves upward into the polka-dotted
layer. While strange oversized cartoon figures pop in and
out of the holes, and the yellow submarine putters by at least
once, Enterprise is left alone. ARCHER stands and clumps
awkwardly to T'POL's station.}
ARCHER: Got anything?
T'POL: An intense desire for you to come up
with a new catchphrase.
HOSHI: Boy, that's not where I thought that
sentence was going.
ARCHER: You and the rest of the Target Demographic.
T'POL {examining scans of Helix}: It
appears to be an aggregate structure... comprised of hundreds
of vessels. They're held in place by an interlocking system
of magnetic seals.
ARCHER: Magnetic seals... oh! {leans down
and switches off the mag-locks on his boots} Oh, that's
so much better.
HOSHI: I think I've located Klaang.
ARCHER {punching comm button}: Transporter
room two, lock onto the Klingon's coordinates and beam him
directly to Sickbay.
O'BRIEN {over comm}: I'd be happy to,
sir, if I had the vaguest idea what you were talking about.
HOSHI: Do-over!
ARCHER {pounds console}: Dammit! Never
mind. {punches button to turn off comm} Malcolm, is
our grappler online?
MALCOLM: Let me check. {punches comm button}
Crewman Zorn? What's your status?
CREWMAN ZORN {over comm}: Ready when
you are, sir.
MALCOLM: Very good. Reed out. {punches button
to turn off comm}
ARCHER: Travis, follow that rabbit.
{Enterprise follows a large white
rabbit down one of the holes into the clear layer of atmosphere.
Three cell ships are patrolling. Enterprise shoots
and misses, but nails a fourth ship a kilometer down.}
MALCOLM: Incoming! {The ship jolts. MALCOLM
mutters as he works his console} Join Starfleet, the recruiter
said. Lots of chances to blow things up, he said. {louder}
Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
T'POL: These scanners were not designed for
a liquid atmosphere.
ARCHER: We don'need no steenken scanners. {waves}
The ship's right in front of us.
HOSHI: That's the aft view, sir.
MALCOLM {still muttering}: No oceans
in space, he said. Aquaphobia doesn't make a difference in
space, he said. {louder} Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
T'POL: You have got to work on a better
alert system.
MALCOLM: I'll add it to my "honey- do"
list. In the meantime, the lead ship is within one thousand
meters. Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
ARCHER: Fire the Wave Motion gun!
MALCOLM: Fire the wot?!
ARCHER: Sorry, wrong franchise. In fact, wrong
medium altogether. Fire the grapplers!
{Two large grappling hooks on massive tethers
streak out from Enterprise and grab the cell ship.
The Suliban pilot, played by a small doll with no articulated
joints, is ejected and falls through the atmosphere towards
the planet. Enterprise reels the cell ship in.}
ARCHER {punches comm button}: Did we
get it?
TRIP {over comm}: Ah'm sorry, Cap'n,
but it's below the legal size limit. You'll have to throw
it back.
ARCHER: Wiseass. Let's see you tell fish jokes
with only one arm.
TRIP {over comm}: Sir?
ARCHER: Um... never mind. I have to stop talking
to Chef's intern. Did you fix that scraping thing in the turbolift
yet?
TRIP {over comm}: Yeah. Funny thing --
it was a bloodied wrist with a hook attached. Kinda creepy.
{Cell ship. TRIP and TRAVIS are examining
the console. TRAVIS is pointing to various controls, and TRIP
is trying to identify them.}
TRIP: Pitch control. {TRAVIS shakes his head
and points to another button.} That's pitch control.
{TRAVIS nods. He points to a display.} Cloak. {TRAVIS
shakes his head and points to another button.} Ah dunno,
it's the stereo. Play some Dixie Chicks. {TRAVIS grins.}
Look, Ah know you ain't mute, just tell me what these
damn things are!
{The lights go down, music swells, the spotlight
appears, and TRAVIS whips out the top hat and cane. TRIP rolls
his eyes and goes back to the buttons.}
TRAVIS {singing}: Hello my baby, hello
my honey, hello my ragtime gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal...
TRIP: Shut up, wouldja? Ah'm not impressed anymore.
{The music fades, and the lights come back
up. TRAVIS slowly lowers the hat and cane, looking very disappointed.
TRIP continues to ignore him. TRAVIS thinks for a long moment.
Suddenly he gets an idea and smiles broadly. The lights go
down about halfway this time, with no spotlight. Guitar music
begins with TRAVIS's voice.}
TRAVIS {singing}: It's been a long road,
gettin' from there to here...
{TRIP's head snaps up, his eyes wide in horror.}
TRAVIS {singing, getting into it}: It's
been a long time, but my time is finally near...
{TRIP looks around frantically. He spots
the tool box behind him and lunges for it.}
TRAVIS {singing, gesticulating, not watching
TRIP}: And I will see my dream come alive at last -- I
will touch the sky...
{TRIP finds a tremendous monkey wrench.}
TRAVIS {singing}: And they're not gonna
hold me down no more, no they're not gonna change my mind,
'cause I've got -- {TRIP clocks TRAVIS with the wrench.
TRAVIS goes down like a sack of wet cement.}
ARCHER {over the comm}: How's it going,
Trip?
{TRIP is breathing hard, but he stumbles
back to his seat and punches the button to answer.}
TRIP: Jes' fine, Cap'n. Gettin' on jes' fine.
{hefts the wrench, panting, and looks over at TRAVIS's
inert form}
{Ready Room. Why does Archer have a Ready
Room in 2151 when Kirk doesn't have one in the late 2200s?
ARCHER has a crossbow slung on his back and is giving last-minute
instructions to T'POL.}
ARCHER:...and whatever you do, don't
let him have any gorgonzola.
T'POL {tapping her Palm Pilot}: Understood.
ARCHER: Are the Suliban still trying to locate
us by Braille?
T'POL: Apparently. Fortunately for us, they're
as blind as bats.{The ship jolts.}
ARCHER: The bats on Vulcan must not eat very
well.
T'POL: Vulcan only has vampire bats. They navigate
by smell.
ARCHER: Wow, an intra-planet, cross-species
ability reference! That's subtle and complex even for Deep
Space Nine.
T'POL: Joss is God.
ARCHER: Have the Helm lay in a course for Qo'noS.
What's the relief's name?
T'POL: Crewman Sulu.
ARCHER: Sulu, right. Poor Travis, coming down
with such a horrible migraine right before the biggest, most
important journey we've ever made. Something like this could
really put a pilot on the fast track to an amazing career.
Give him a reputation his descendants could inherit.
T'POL: It might be something more serious than
a mere migraine.
ARCHER: Doctor Phlox assures me it's not a tumor.
{furrows his brow in concern} I hope Travis wakes up
before we get to the Klingon homeworld, though. {The doorbell
sounds. Before ARCHER can respond, MALCOLM enters carrying
two silver equipment cases.} You know, one of these days
you people are going to regret barging in on me.
MALCOLM {setting the cases down}: Don't
be ridiculous. You're the Captain. You have no privacy and
no personal life, and the only intimate contact you're allowed
is a string of one-night stands or dead spouses. {flips
open the first case} Now, here's the anti-magnet magnet
you requested. Press this button and you've got five seconds
to be on the piece which isn't floating off into space.
ARCHER: Five seconds. Got it.
MALCOLM {flips open the second case}:
Here are the new hand weapons. They're called phase-pistols.
They have two settings: stun and kill. It would be best not
to confuse them.
T'POL: That joke is straight from the script.
MALCOLM: It's one of the funniest lines B&B
have written. I'll be reminiscing about it in interviews for
years to come. {cocks his head suddenly, then grabs onto
the wall.} Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
ARCHER: Subcommander, the ship is yours. {grabs
a quiver of crossbow bolts}
T'POL: Break a leg.
ARCHER: Wow, you really are jockeying for the
Observer role, aren't you?
HOSHI {over comm}: Bridge to Captain
Archer.
ARCHER {punching button}: Go ahead.
HOSHI {over comm}: Admiral Forrest is
on Line Two, sir.
ARCHER: Put it through to my Ready Room. Archer
out. {to MALCOLM} Would you mind taking those cases
to the cell ship, please?
MALCOLM: My pleasure, sir.
{T'POL and MALCOLM nod curtly and leave with
the cases. ARCHER puts down the crossbow and bolts and sits
at his desk, then turns on the terminal.}
ARCHER: Admiral.
ADMIRAL FORREST: You're going out?
ARCHER: I have to.
ADMIRAL FORREST: You haven't filed a log in
days.
ARCHER: It's been really quiet.
ADMIRAL FORREST: It's happening again, isn't
it? I got a call from Soval. Said you made a detour to Rigel
and Subcommander T'Pol was injured?
ARCHER: I was running an errand.
ADMIRAL FORREST: Enterprise still has
that new-ship smell, and I'm getting calls from the Vulcan
ambassador.
ARCHER: Admiral, I promise, it is not
gonna be like before. But I have to go.
ADMIRAL FORREST: No.
ARCHER: What?
ADMIRAL FORREST: The tapes all say I should
get used to saying it. No.
ARCHER: This is really, really important.
You have no idea.
ADMIRAL FORREST: I know. If you don't go out
it'll be the end of the universe. Everything is life or death
when you're a Captain. {sighs fondly} I remember my
first command -- 438 souls reporting to me, every decision
could mean discovery or destruction.... That kind of power
can really make your head swell.
ARCHER: Look, I don't have time to talk about
this...
ADMIRAL FORREST: Captain, you've got all the
time in the world. You're not going anywhere. Now, if you
want to sit in your quarters and watch water polo and sulk,
I won't hold it against you. But if you're willing to get
back with the program, I'll be here to get your logs. {closes
channel}
ARCHER: This is why superheroes are freelancers,
renegades, and orphans. {picks up crossbow and bolts and
leaves}
{Cell ship. ARCHER and TRIP are squeezed
together on the single seat in front of the controls. A light
on a side panel begins to blink, and an alarm is heard.}
ARCHER: What's that?
TRIP: Means the microwave is done. {He punches
a button to turn off the alarm, opens a small door, and takes
out a packet. Reads off the wrapper} Ham and Swiss with
a little no-fat mayo on Wonder Bread -- that one's yours.
{hands it to ARCHER and takes out the second for himself}
ARCHER: Thanks. {unwraps sandwich} Whadja
get? {takes a bite}
TRIP: Smoked turkey and brie with honey mustard
on a fresh wheat baguette. {unwraps the end and takes a
bite}
ARCHER: I'm beginning to think Chef likes you
better.
TRIP: Ah don't keep badgerin' his intern with
stupid questions.
ARCHER: Remind me why you're flying this ship
when I'm the pilot?
TRIP: "Rigel."
ARCHER: Never mind.
TRIP: Napkin?
{Bridge.}
MALCOLM: Incoming! {The ship jolts.}
HOSHI: I think you just like saying that.
MALCOLM: Would you rather I made "You sunk
my bat-tle-ship!" jokes?
HOSHI: Point taken.
T'POL: You know, Tuvok never had to put up with
this kind of blatant species-ism.
MALCOLM: These are much less PC times, Subcommander.
HOSHI: Which is why you're never ever coming
out, right?
MALCOLM: Unfortunately. {to T'POL} You
know, if we moved over just a tetch, the Suliban would have
to start looking for us all over again.
T'POL: If we move even half a tetch, the Captain
will never find us.
MALCOLM: Mister Tucker is piloting, not the
Captain.
T'POL: Oh. In that case: Helm, move us two tetches
to starboard.
CREWMAN SULU: Two tetches to starboard, aye.
{Cell ship.}
TRIP {as he punches buttons}: Welcome
to the Helix. Please stow your luggage, close your trays,
and return your seatbacks to their upright position. Thank
you for flying Really Close Quarters Airlines.
ARCHER: Aren't you glad you use Dial?
TRIP: Don't you wish everybody else did?
ARCHER: The future of television: no commercial
interruptions, just constant internal product placement.
{The ship thunks hard against the side of the Helix. ARCHER
looks artfully queasy.} Where's my Dramamine?
{Whirring mechanical sounds and hissing as
atmospheric pressure equalizes. The hatch door opens onto
a dark corridor. ARCHER and TRIP clamber out of the cell ship,
each with a phase pistol, TRIP carrying the silver case and
hand scanner, ARCHER with his crossbow and bolts.
They come around a corner and surprise a
Suliban. TRIP fires his phase pistol, to no effect. The Suliban
shoots and misses. ARCHER fires his crossbow, catching the
Suliban in the heart. He puddles.}
ARCHER: Gotta have a Plan B.
TRIP: Mal is gonna be so disappointed.
{Bridge.}
HOSHI: Please please please can't I do it just
once?
MALCOLM: All right. Just this once. Mind you
don't muck it up.
HOSHI: Oh goody! Thanks. {She puts the little
silver earpiece thingy into her ear and listens intently for
a long beat. Suddenly she yanks it out.} Ow! Incoming!
{There are two loud BOOMs, and the ship jolts hard, twice.}
MALCOLM: Nicely done, Ensign.
HOSHI: Thank you. Now I have a headache this
big {gestures} and it's got Excedrin written all over
it.
T'POL: Helm, move us a few tetches farther to
starboard.
CREWMAN SULU: A few tetches farther to starboard,
aye. Do you think it's going to help us avoid the Suliban,
Subcommander?
T'POL: No, but the interference on my Blackberry
reception might clear up.
{Helix. ARCHER kicks open a door. He and
TRIP point their pistols every which way, trying to cover
all directions at once. TRIP cautiously flips on the light.
The room is empty except for KLAANG, sprawled unconscious
at a table, both hands in small bowls.}
ARCHER: Dibs on the door. Get Klaang.
TRIP {surprised}: Don't you wanna do
the whole big hero rescue thing?
ARCHER: Nah, I believe in sharing the wealth.
It's supposed to be an ensemble show, remember?
TRIP: Ah will, but the writers won't.
ARCHER: You're one of the Big Four; don't bitch.
TRIP {holstering his pistol}: Four? Ah
thought it was gonna be the Big Three.
ARCHER: It's the accent. Malcolm's is real.
TRIP: Hey!
ARCHER {motioning with the phase pistol}:
Klaang?
{TRIP makes an annoyed face, but hurries
over to KLAANG, taking his hands out of the bowls. KLAANG's
fingers are crushed in giant mousetraps.}
TRIP: Man, that's gotta sting. {He pries
them off one by one. As he gets the last trap off, KLAANG
wakes up and slugs TRIP halfway across the room.} Oooof!
KLAANG {raising his mangled hands in victory}:
Qa'pla! {ARCHER puts a crossbow bolt between KLAANG's feet
before he can move again. KLAANG looks down, then slowly up
at ARCHER.}
ARCHER: Let's see who can win a prize for keeping
their cool. You come with us like a good boy and you got an
amazing story to tell your friends. If not, you got a tag
on your toe. You decide.
TRIP {getting up creakily}: And you're
makin' comments about my accent?
{KLAANG grudgingly follows ARCHER and TRIP.
They reach the hallway, and Suliban begin firing at them.}
ARCHER: Give me the case and scanner. Get Klaang
to the ship. I'll be right there.
{ARCHER puts the case on the floor, opens
it, and begins setting up the anti-magnet magnet. TRIP phasers
a Suliban and he goes down.}
TRIP: Yeah! Ah got one!
{Another Suliban leaps for them. He meets
KLAANG's mailed fist in mid-air. The Suliban explodes in a
spray of of silver goo and purple Klingon blood.}
KLAANG {groaning and shaking his hand}:
ghuy'cha'!
TRIP: Ah'll bet. C'mon, we gotta get to the
ship. {They run off.}
{ARCHER puts the the anti-magnet magnet against
the wall. It promptly slides down to the floor and falls over.
ARCHER rolls his eyes and flips it back upright.}
ARCHER: Now, what did Malcolm say... five seconds
to be on the piece which isn't floating off into space.
{He checks the flooring seals, then turns
the machine on.}
MALCOLM'S RECORDED VOICE: Five...four...three...two...one.
Have a nice day.
{A brief flash of light fills the corridor.
Mechanisms start to go off everywhere, as the interlocking
pieces decouple. The Helix is coming apart at the seams. ARCHER
is quite pleased, until he looks at the separating cells and
realizes that the piece which is floating off into
space is attached to the ship where TRIP and KLAANG are waiting
for him.}
ARCHER: ghuy'cha'.
{Cell ship. TRIP is sitting in KLAANG's lap
because there's no other way to fit both of them in the ship.
TRIP hails ARCHER with some desperation.}
TRIP: Cap'n? You all right?
ARCHER {over communicator}: I'm still
on the central core. Get Klaang back to Enterprise.
TRIP: Ah ain't leavin' you there!
ARCHER{over communicator}: Come back
for me when things have cleared up. Archer out.
TRIP: Damn. {He starts punching buttons.
The cell ship roughly disengages from the disintegrating Helix
and zips away, dodging other ships and corridors and a tiny
woman on a broom. KLAANG roars irritably.}
KLAANG: nuqDaq 'oH puchpa''e'?
TRIP: And if a bullfrog had wings his ass wouldn't
drag on the ground. Ah'm gettin' us out of here the best Ah
can.
{They clear the debris field and head outward,
looking for Enterprise. KLAANG quiets down and eyes
TRIP craftily. He sniffs once or twice.}
TRIP: Ah don't particularly like the way you
smell either.
KLAANG {in English}: I think you smell
just fine, warrior. Invigorating. {TRIP's eyes widen, and
he whips around.} I should thank you, for releasing me
from the Suliban's traps.
TRIP: Please tell me you ain't gonna
start singin'.
KLAANG {shaking his head}: No. {He
inhales deeply and suddenly tightens his arms around TRIP,
trapping him.} But your blood is sweet -- {KLAANG opens
his mouth widely to reveal many sharp teeth. TRIP screams.}
|
