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ARCHER: This is Jonathan Archer of the Starfleet
vessel Enterprise. I'm here with my senior staff --
TRIP: Cap'n, we did the introductions last time.
Let's just cut to the episode.
ARCHER: You're in an awful hurry.
TRIP: Just tryin' to keep folks from gettin'
bored.
ARCHER: Ooookay. Anyone else have an opinion?
PHLOX: Captain, if they don't know who we are,
the commentary itself will be of little value.
T'POL: I believe we may safely assume the audience
is familiar with all of us. I recommend we proceed.
MALCOLM: A refreshing change of pace for you,
Subcommander.
TRAVIS: Actually, I wouldn't mind if we went
through the introductions. I get knocked out of the action
pretty early on in this one -- I need something to
talk about.
HOSHI: You got off the lightest, bub. The rest
of us look deranged.
MALCOLM: Motion carried. Start the show.
TRAVIS: You owe me a drink for that.
{Teaser. Spooky pan over the crew collapsed
in various positions.}
PHLOX: Everyone is sprawled rather artfully,
don't you think?
TRAVIS: There's a nice variety, though.
HOSHI: Very well-choreographed THUDding.
{"I've transmitted a distress call but
the nearest Vulcan ship is more than nine days away."}
ARCHER: Do the Vulcans have something like a
thousand ships wandering around, or have we just not gotten
very far?
PHLOX: There's that clanking sound again. Is
that some sort of atavistic distress call among your people?
TRIP: Clanking in the background music means
someone's about to discover or reveal a scary secret. Shrieking
violins means a murderer's around the corner.
PHLOX: Hm! I'll make a note of that.
{music swells}
ARCHER: Who's got the remote?
PORTHOS: {muffled bark}
TRAVIS: Nice job.
PORTHOS: It hurts my ears a lot more than it
does yours, believe me.
{episode begins}
 HOSHI:
Check out all the paper tacked to the wall for her research.
That's a nice set dressing detail.
{"I'm documenting my findings so that
Starfleet will at least have a record of what happened."}
HOSHI: What did you do with that "record,"
anyway?
T'POL: I completed my analysis with the Doctor's
assistance and submitted it to the Captain.
ARCHER: Starfleet Medical got the details without
names. Admiral Forrest only got the highlights.
TRIP: Thank you.
PHLOX: Indeed.
{"But none of them were part of a trinary
star system."}
TRIP: So...it used to be a quaternary star system?
Or is it now a binary star system with a black hole?
MALCOLM: A black hole is a collapsed
star.
TRIP: Well, does that count or doesn't it?
MALCOLM: Give the black hole a few thousand
years and there won't be a star system at all.
{"Close enough to get some nice pictures."}
TRIP: What was that look about? Why were you
rollin' your eyes at me?
T'POL: Your terminology is colloquial and imprecise.
TRIP: It's also not wrong. We did take pictures.
T'POL: A high-resolution particle scan hardly
qualifies as "taking --
ARCHER: Don't make me separate you two.
{"When I lean back I feel like I'm about
to slide out of it. I have to sort of...perch on the edge."}
T'POL: Perhaps you might replace the vinyl cushion
with cloth.
TRAVIS: Something embroidered might give you
better traction.
HOSHI: How do you think the rest of us stay
put through all that jolting?
ARCHER: Are you telling me that my senior staff
has researched "jolted-butt traction"?
{general laughter}
 {T'POL
comes to Archer's office.}
HOSHI: Hey, pause it. Can anybody read what
it says on the screen?
ARCHER: Hoshi, the book was printed. I'll give
you a copy.
HOSHI: "Archer #10 Galley Draft."
MALCOLM: Never mind the screen, can you read
the spines of the books on the desk?
TRIP: Dickens, Del Stevens, and Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy.
T'POL: I was not aware of such a guide. Who
is the author? Hitchhiking can be quite dangerous.
PHLOX: I notice you're hovering over your seat
again, Captain; is your desk chair also sliding vinyl?
ARCHER: I'm...pacing in place.
 HOSHI:
Wait -- in the long shot there are no books next to the monitor!
It's a little piece of computer equipment! What happened?
{"Apparently, she spends some of her
free time in the galley and is eager for an opportunity to
cook for the crew."}
TRAVIS: Or cook the crew.
HOSHI: This isn't "Sweeney Todd."
{"Let me ask you a question."}
MALCOLM: What is the airspeed velocity of an
unladen swallow?
TRIP: An African or European swallow?
TRAVIS: Ni!
TRIP: Cap'n, you really should duck when you're
pacin' around like that. You'll hurt yourself bangin' into
the bulkheads.
ARCHER: I wasn't banging into it, I was resting
my forehead on it.
{"...you'll be able to condense your
thoughts."}
TRIP: Oh, that's what you were doin' -- condensing.
MALCOLM: Wouldn't that be more like compressing?
{Galley.}
HOSHI: Ohhh, I love this kitchen. Convection
ovens. Counter space. All that stainless steel.
PORTHOS: And cheese.
{"It's one of my grandmother's specialties.
The recipe's been passed down for generations."}
TRIP: Like my Nonna's sauce.
ARCHER: The best tomato sauce I've ever had.
MALCOLM: Why haven't you made it for us?
TRIP: Are you jokin'? My momma's almost 60,
and she still hasn't gotten it quite right.
{Sickbay.}
 TRAVIS:
So what did I interrupt you from making here, Doc?
PHLOX: Nonna's tomato sauce.
{general snickering}
{"Is there something I can do for you?"}
HOSHI: Expose me to a complicated disease which
will require several episodes to deal with?
TRIP: Let the bat loose so Ah have to chase
it around the ship making weird animal sounds for comic relief?
ARCHER: Cross-train me to be a medic like Tom
Paris?
MALCOLM: Let me sacrifice myself in some painful
but noble manner to save the entire ship?
PHLOX: Naaaah, I'll just settle for sedating
you.
TRAVIS {laughing}: I really love you
guys. Honestly. I'll be sure to neglect to mention your names
when I get my first Oscar.
MALCOLM: Will that be for "The Marcel Marceau
Story"?
TRAVIS: Now you owe me two drinks.
{"To see if you've had any problems
since I removed the neural implants you received at the repair
station."}
TRAVIS: Other than the recurring urge to stick
my fingers into data ports and occasional lapses into binary
speech, no, I'm feeling fine.
ARCHER: Phlox, you sawThe Shining right
before we filmed this, didn't you?
PHLOX: Batman, actually.
{Bridge.}
ARCHER: You want to watch the arm of the chair
there, Trip. You'll bang your face on it.
MALCOLM: You are sitting in an exceedingly
uncomfortable position.
TRIP: Yeah, and ya notice Norris never directed
for us again after this episode.
{"We also have sensitive hearing."}
ARCHER: In other words...
ARCHER, TRIP, MALCOLM, HOSHI, TRAVIS, PHLOX,
PORTHOS: "Good ears."
{Armory. Or Armoury, if you prefer.}
{"I've been reviewing our encounters
with hostile species."}
TRIP {mimicking British accent}: Did
you know we've been getting our arses kicked at an alarming
rate?
ARCHER: We must lack butt traction.
{"...but this isn't a warship."
"Well, that's obvious, sir."}
TRAVIS: Enterprise isn't a warship! Warp
speed is really fast! More news at eleven!
ARCHER: Look, I was already affected. And we
kept the Tactical Alert, didn't we?
MALCOLM: I find it slightly ridiculous that
I was the one to come up with it a year and a half into
the series. Don't the writers have a military advisor of any
kind?
TRIP: You did a nice job in this scene. You
managed to look competent, nervous, formal, intimidated, and
condescending all at once.
MALCOLM: You think so? I was concerned about
overplaying the sneer. I had to keep dialing back. It took
five or six takes.
TRIP: No, ya did great.
 {Stock
shot of ship flying through space.}
TRAVIS: Where is the light coming from?
HOSHI: What light?
TRAVIS: The light reflecting on the hull.
T'POL: We automatically deploy a spotlight probe
when we are out of the range of any sufficiently bright star,
to assist the camera in locating the ship.
{Mess Hall.}
{"It's the Captain's chair."}
HOSHI: Mee-ow!
PORTHOS: {barks}
HOSHI: It's just an expression, Porthos.
PORTHOS: I was complimenting Trip on his delivery.
He packed an hour of outrage into four words.
 {Shot
of Trip and Malcolm's lunch.}
ARCHER: Trip, did you eat the edamame pods whole?
TRIP: Yeah, why not?
ARCHER: Ew! They're all stringy. You're supposed
to pop them open and eat the beans inside.
TRIP: Nah, too much fuss.
MALCOLM: {disgusted laugh}
TRIP: Hey, what Grandma said about eating habits
applies to other humans too, ya know.
{Sickbay.}
{"How much longer is this going to take?"}
PHLOX: Oh, don't worry, you won't go through
your entire month's quota of lines.
TRAVIS: Then I can have my clone corpse fill
in for me while I hit the jazz clubs.
MALCOLM: Do corpses get union scale?
TRAVIS: Only if they're reanimated.
{ARCHER's quarters.}
HOSHI: Pause it again!
ARCHER: Hoshi...
 HOSHI:
"Transcription 08-27." Look, our people spend a
lot of time putting those details in, and I think they should
be acknowledged, that's all.
TRIP: Cap'n, are you tryin' to channel Shatner
here?
ARCHER: Hey, don't mess with Bill.
{T'POL's quarters.}
MALCOLM: Your accent got rather thick in this
scene, Mister Tucker.
T'POL: That was the first clue that something
was amiss. The Commander usually speaks more clearly
when he is angered, not less.
PHLOX: Do you think anyone in the audience will
notice that?
TRIP: My fans are very focused.
{"Gee, I wish this chair wasn't such
a pain in the ass."}
TRAVIS: See, now if you got it embroidered --
MALCOLM: Quilted.
ARCHER: Quilted?
MALCOLM: Vastly more comfortable.
PHLOX: Aha! Clanking! Something's about to be
revealed!
{Sickbay.}
 ARCHER:
As Mister Mayweather's eyeballs go for the Emmy...
{general laughter}
MALCOLM: You're awfully lively for not having
slept all night.
TRAVIS: I had two dozen lines, dammit, and I
was gonna make the most of 'em!
TRIP: Why did you get back up on the biobed
to get a shot? It's not like he couldn't reach your neck.
PHLOX: Oh, I asked him to do that. I wasn't
sure I could catch him if he collapsed from a standing position.
TRAVIS: Aaaaaand there I go.
MALCOLM: Would you like that drink now?
TRAVIS: You owe me two. I'll take a Sam Adams
if there are any left.
{Engineering.}
{"It seemed a bit narcissistic."}
TRIP: Which is not one of your faults.
MALCOLM: Thank you. I think. That was a compliment,
wasn't it?
TRIP: Yes, Mal.
MALCOLM: Oh. Good.
{Test alarms blare wildly.}
ARCHER: Obnoxious car alarms, neon undercarriage
lights -- we've been invaded by Vinnies from the Drakkar Noir
Nebula!
{"They both sound like a bag fulla cats."}
T'POL: No known species of feline could emit
any sound which resembled those alarms.
HOSHI: You have the best snits, Lieutenant.
MALCOLM: Is that another compliment?
{Galley.}
{"CARROTS!"}
TRIP: PEAS!
TRAVIS: CELERY!
ARCHER: LIMA BEANS!
PORTHOS: CHEESE!
HOSHI: We need more mind-altering anomalies.
That's the most emotion I've gotten to show since I screamed
like a twelve-year-old in "Fight or Flight."
{Different stock shot of ship flying.}
TRAVIS: Shouldn't we be seeing the trinary system
by now? At least as a bright spot?
{Armoury.}
TRIP: Ah think your accent changed a little
here too.
MALCOLM: My peeps were calling this the "Lord
Admiral Half-Nelson" inflection.
TRAVIS: Actually, most of these suggestions
made sense.
ARCHER: They did. I think we kept a lot of them.
PHLOX: Not the one about executing traitors
by firing squad in the Cargo Bay at high noon, fortunately.
 {"Why
are you armed?"}
MALCOLM: Because I'm the bloody head of security
and I should be armed at all times, that's why.
TRIP: So that is just a phase pistol in your
pocket?
ARCHER: Don't make me separate you two.
{"...growing consumed with matters that
seemed trivial, at best."}
PORTHOS: I think you're just jealous that I
know more of the Sports questions in the Genus VII edition
than you do.
{Engineering.}
{"Did you know that this chair is the
exact same model used on Neptune-Class survey ships?"}
MALCOLM: Someone call a cleanup crew; we've
got a large puddle of disdain on the floor outside Mister
Tucker's office.
PHLOX: I think the Commander's performance was
marvelous. You're very expressive.
TRIP: Thank you.
{"Ah'm gonna build you a throne."}
TRAVIS: Scatological double-entendre?
TRIP: Check.
TRAVIS: Why are you two the only ones in Engineering?
Where are the extras?
HOSHI: Just a fact of Trek life. Sometimes all
the NPCs...go away somewhere.
T'POL: I believe the implication is that each
crew member is busy with his or her own obsessions.
PHLOX: I was relieved to find, after interviewing
the crew, that apparently I was the only one who became obsessed
with another crewmember. I'm not sure even Star Trek wants
to deal with stalking.
MALCOLM: That could be an interesting B-plot
for a future episode.
ARCHER: Does Duras count?
T'POL: Perhaps.
{Alarm blares.}
TRAVIS: We have a winner! Bag of cats number
one!
{Bridge. Squabbling.}
PHLOX: Aha! Clanking! This must be the great
secret revealed!
HOSHI: Drop a note to the soundtrack people.
They'll be delighted that you noticed.
{"One minute and forty-nine seconds."}
PORTHOS: Wow, it actually was! That was perfectly
timed!
{"This isn't a bloody pleasure cruise!"}
 TRIP:
You're startin' to foam at the mouth there, Mal.
MALCOLM: A little Brioschi tucked in between
cheek and gum.
ARCHER: Malcolm! Don't give away trade secrets
like that.
{Yet another stock shot of ship flying through
space.}
TRAVIS: I guess we're on autopilot, because
if my relief is obsessed with his aglets or something, we'd
be adrift.
T'POL: The cost of an additional custom external
shot would have inflated the effects budget unnecessarily.
This is a "bottle" episode.
{ARCHER's quarters.}
ARCHER: Okay, Hoshi, what does the monitor say?
 HOSHI:
"Transcription 08-31," I think. Plus what you read
to Trip and another paragraph with a lot of ellipses -- the
one you started earlier about the facility at Bozeman.
ARCHER: The transcribing program actually put
in all the pauses as ellipses? Wow.
{Sickbay.}
TRIP: Travis, you may want to go get some coffee
for this scene.
TRAVIS: Urg. That sounds like a good idea.
ARCHER: How can you be performing brain surgery
without having even a curtain up around the patient? Anybody
could walk in and disrupt you.
PHLOX: Fortunately.
{"I'm going to begin by extracting the
first 12 millimeters of his parietal lobe."}
TRIP: That's a whole lotta lobe, Doc.
PHLOX: Well, you know, best to be thorough.
TRIP: Ah think Ah'm gonna go get some coffee
m'self.
MALCOLM: I'd love some tea if you're up.
HOSHI: Oh, me too.
{T'POL neck-pinches PHLOX. He falls like
a sack of wet cement.}
PHLOX: Aaaaand there I go.
MALCOLM: I'd like you to teach me that sometime.
T'POL: No.
{T'POL wanders the ship and VOs narration.}
HOSHI: It was a good thing Chef was down with
that virus for a few days. I spent three hours scrubbing the
stove where the oden boiled over.
{"If I can chart a course between the
stars..."}
ARCHER: That's the other Janeway Maneuver.
TRAVIS: Yeah, the one that's right before the
Kolvoord Starburst on the Starfleet pilots' prohibited list.
Here's your tea.
HOSHI: Thanks.
{ARCHER's quarters.}
PHLOX: I'm curious, Subcommander; what was
in that flask you're carrying?
T'POL: Double-strength espresso.
ARCHER: Why didn't you just bring me warp plasma?
T'POL: I could not find a proper container on
such short notice.
 TRIP:
Why are the controls to the shower outside the
shower? What idiot designed these things?
MALCOLM: You had your chance to build a better
mousetrap, Mister Tucker. Don't cry about it now.
{"Vulcan physiology seems to be immune."}
ARCHER: A simple "No" would have been
sufficient, T'Pol.
T'POL: It would have been imprecise. Besides,
Vulcans are enamored of sesquipedalian responses.
{"Lousy coffee."}
TRIP: Philistine. Remind me not to have you
over for cappuccino.
ARCHER: She didn't put any sugar in it!
MALCOLM: He has a point.
{"Travis?"}
TRAVIS: I'm glad somebody thinks of me.
HOSHI: Too bad it wasn't Chris Black.
{Jolting Bridge.}
TRAVIS: Notice how you didn't slide out of my
chair the whole scene?
ARCHER: Embroidery, huh?
TRAVIS: The only thing better is velcro.
ARCHER: I don't need my butt to have that
much grip.
TRIP: Don't make me separate you two.
{T'POL shoots at the debris.}
MALCOLM: Not bad, Subcommander.
T'POL: You will find my initials at the top
of the High Score list of every "Asteroids" game
within fifty kilometers of the Vulcan compound in San Francisco.
TRP: How's your score on "Space Invaders"?
T'POL: Acceptable.
 {Crew
begins to wake up.}
HOSHI: Bed-head!
TRIP: More like drool-face.
{Sickbay.}
{"What procedure on Mr. Mayweather?"}
PHLOX: I was attempting a charisma graft. Viggo
Mortensen kindly gave a donation.
{ARCHER's office.}
{"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
"I did."}
ARCHER: And now I have, so you can go. --ow!
TRIP: Nice shootin', Tex.
MALCOLM: Fastest rubber band in the West End.
TRIP: Ah'm glad to see your sharpshooting skills
aren't limited to conventional weapons.
{Bridge.}
 PHLOX:
Captain, it's no wonder you're sliding out of your chair when
you sit back. The heels of your feet don't reach the deck.
{"Cross your legs."}
HOSHI: That's our captain, always setting a
good example for the ladies.
TRIP: Ah don't know what Black was thinkin'.
That was a weird line.
{"How about I just attach the cup-holder?"}
ARCHER: How about a seat belt?
TRAVIS: That would be gut traction, Captain.
T'POL: Traditionally, girdles have filled that
function for Starfleet captains.
ARCHER: Aaaaand on that note, we wrap up our
commentary on "Singularity." Thanks for joining
us.
PHLOX: Which episode are we doing next?
TRIP: Something clankless.
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