Episode Report Card Keckler: B- | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Seven of Whine
By Keckler | Season 2 | Episode 7 | Aired on 11.05.2002
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.T'Pol "trusts" Quantum, which basically means she requests his company on a mission that might get them killed by acid snow. May-blot tags along as a red shirt, but he still doesn't die. This leaves Trip in charge of the ship. Cue poop-talk and confusion among crewmembers. Seriously, can the man discuss ANYTHING else? Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Just what we need -- another episode where the "unemotional" Vulcan is showing us six easy steps to becoming a hysterical basket case. It actually would have been a unique and interesting premise for a plot, had they not already trotted out T'Pol's Postcards From The Edge several times in the first season. Taking into account Hoshi's various exhibitions of emotional unsteadiness along with T'Pol's, it might be nice to see one of the men on this show come unhinged -- but of course, that would require actual acting on the part of some of them. This recent chapter of T'Pol having more issues than a daily paper really makes you wonder if the writers were living under a rock each time "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" tale came up in polite conversation. A word of advice to the writers, creators, and directors: Enough is enough! T'Pol as a four-time winner of the "Snake Pit" award doesn't make her sexy; it makes her boring.
T'Pol is reading a book in Vulcan. Although it's so small, what it really looks like is one of those palm-sized books bound in red velvet or purple silk that stores like Urban Outfitters clutter their wooden bins with. You know the ones I mean, don't you? They have Chinese or Sanskrit on all the pages -- most likely saying, "Making trinket books for the American market to buy at fifteen bucks a pop is particularly idiotic" -- but when you read them on the T, you look intelligent and vaguely mysterious. For all we know, that's what her book says as well -- it's not like anyone out there has seen fit to devote their lives to writing dictionaries, teaching seminars, and founding camps to learn this particular Trek Tongue. Stupid, worthless Klingon subjunctive tense. T'Pol gets a transmission from an elder, female-y Vulcan telling her, "We've located Menos." T'Pol asks where "he" is, and if they're sure it's "him." They're sure. Of course they are -- they're Vulcans, after all. T'Pol clenches her jaw. Oh good, The Ambiguous But Kinda Threatening Message Device to begin an episode. That's never been used before.
Of all David Bowie space oddities, when I hear the theme song, I now have this image in my head of Scott Bakula singing it.
Quantum's Ready Room. T'Pol -- obviously unsettled to anyone whose vision isn't obscured by Down In The Furrow, Furrow So Low, Hang Your Head Over, Hear The Wind Blow -- greets her captain. "Mornin'," he chews. "Toast?" Man, they are always eating on this ship -- what is with their food obsession? I always want what's on their plates. Of course, it could be me who has the problem. Surprisingly, T'Pol declines the crumb-blown offer and tells him that Forrest will be giving him a jingle later that day. "Oh, really?" Quantum snorts. "And how would you know that?" Do you have to be such a jerk all the time? I mean, has it become your goal in life to tick me off every Wednesday night? T'Pol tells him that the Vulcan High Command contacted her the previous night and gave her the lowdown because they need her on a security matter. Quantum continues to be flip and obnoxious, even when T'Pol's Voice Of Extreme Strickenness tells him they have to divert to the Pernaia System, where she will need a sh'pod and pilot for a few days. If you look slightly to the right, you can see May-Benched begging, "Can I go in now, Coach -- huh, huh, can I?" Quantum presses her for specifics, but T'Pol continues to be all "I can neither confirm nor deny that" about the whole matter. The only thing she will tell him is that, should she choose to accept her mission, a Vulcan ship will meet up with her sh'pod when the deed is done. Quantum hazards a guess that she's going to the Pernaia System to pick someone up and deliver them to the High Council. T'Pol steadfastly pretends she's gainfully employed by the NSA. "Thanks for being so enlightening," Quantum sarcasms, not even trying to keep the tone of arrogant amusement out of his voice, and dismisses her.
Quantum's Log Cabin Syrup (with sage sausages) confirms that Forrest called him up and gave him the expected orders. Meeting with the Bridge Crew, Quantum ascertains that they've located the Pernaia system. Quantum tells May-Sub that when they reach the system, he'll be piloting T'Pol's sh'pod. "And where exactly will we be going?" May-Sub asks, in a tone he really shouldn't use unless he wants his storyline taken away from him. For the fiftieth time. Quantum tells him that neither he nor Admiral Forrest knows what is really going on. "Seems the Sub-Commander's on a highly classified mission," Quantum says sardonically, while T'Pol looks as uncomfortable as a student who has been singled out by a suspicious teacher for doing well on a test specifically engineered to demoralize the entire class. Trip is incredulous that they're not allowed to know any more information about T'Pol's cloak and daggering, and wonders what they are supposed to do while they're waiting around for May-Sub and T'Pol to return from Mission Implausible. "I could use a few days to recalibrate the torpedo launchers," Reed offers. Nerd. Trip nods, but only to snark, "I could polish all the handles and rails in Engineering." Shut up, Trip. Quantum draws up his chest and furrows indulgently at him. Trip concedes that he could find some technobabbling to do. Failing that, you could go clean your room and make your bed. Quantum agrees they will all find something to do. And you, mister, you could walk your dog. Again. Quantum asks if there are any supplies T'Pol and May-Sub are going to need. "Cold-weather gear. Restraints and phase pistols," T'Pol tells him. "And dancing shoes," Mathra giggles from the couch.