All language subtitles for Star Trek Enterprise S01E16 Shuttlepod One

The captain said they'd be
mapping this asteroid field,

but I can't see
head nor tails of them.

Maybe it's another asteroid field.

No, this is the one.

Two primaries, 17 planetesimals.

Well, they weren't expecting
us back for three days.

Maybe they finished
and went to do something else.

Well, with our sensor array down,

we won't know when they
get back until we see them.

Any luck with the com?

Dead as a doornail.

I don't understand it.

Well, no doubt you'll have your boys
take this pod apart piece by piece

once it's back in the launch bay.

I'd feel a lot more comfortable
having everything in working order

by the time Enterprise gets back.

Well, tinker all you like.
I've got a copy of Ulysses here.

I doubt I'll even be halfway through it
by the time the ship gets back.

I'd rather realign every
microcircuit on this shuttle

than try to wade through that baby.

British schools
have a core curriculum.

It serves to provide
a well-rounded education.

Sometimes I think
you North Americans

read nothing but comic books and
those ridiculous science-fiction novels.

I'll have you know that Superman
was laced with metaphor.

Subtext layered on subtext.

Oh, if only Dr Cochrane
had been a European.

The Vulcans would've been
far less reticent to help us.

But no, he had to be from Montana.

He probably spent his nights
reading about cowboys and Indians.

I don't recall any Europeans figuring
out how to build a warp engine.

- Commander.
- No Brits,

- no Italians, no Serbo-Croatians...
- Commander.

I think you'd better come
and take a look at this.

Bring us in closer.

Is it a ship?

If the damn sensors
were only working, we could...

Bring us around again.

There. Slow down.

Come in.

How are the Tesnians doing?

Dr Phlox can only keep 12 of them
in the decon chamber at a time.

What about the other,
what is it, 22?

He's rotating them. They seem
to be doing fine on our atmosphere,

but they need at least
six hours of boron gas a day.

He says we've got enough
to get them home.

- Have you learned their language?
- Yes, sir.

What do they have to say?

They're pretty rattled.

Most of them had been
on that ship for years.

It's a lot to digest.
They lost everything.

They're alive.

Does the captain have
any idea what happened?

No, and he feels terrible about
the damage to Enterprise.

He has no idea
what went wrong.

When they approached
our docking port,

they lost control of their sensor array.
And then a few seconds later,

their navigation system went out.

Thank God their escape pods
were working.

I saw the wreckage on the asteroid.
There wasn't much left.

Archer to Mayweather.
What's our ETA?

We should reach Tesnia
in about 20 hours, sir.

Good work.

That should get us back
to our rendezvous coordinates

well before
Trip and Malcolm get there.

Let's drop out of warp
for a few minutes.

I want to inspect the damage
to the launch doors.

Aye, sir.

Who's in charge of engineering
while Trip's away?

Lieutenant Hess.

Tell her to get a team working on a new
starboard door for Launch Bay Two.

Everything else check out all right?

Astrometrics detected
what could be micro-singularities

in the vicinity of the asteroid field.

Micro-singularities
are a Vulcan myth.

There's no scientific
evidence that they exist.

Our deflectors registered
some unusual charged particles

at the same time the Tesnian
ship began to malfunction.

Any similar damage on Enterprise?

No.

But our hull plating was polarised.

Micro-singularities.

If the Vulcans had their way, they'd
blame them for the common cold.

How about the lifeboats?
They could've launched the lifeboats

- before the crash.
- They'd be here.

They only go 300 kph.

They'd be right here,
waiting for us to return.

Are we sure
there are no survivors?

Commander, we have to figure out
what we're going to do.

We can't just leave.
That's Enterprise.

At least we should
find the black boxes.

With what?
We have no radio.

Nothing to pick up the beacons.

What's the range
on our distress beacon?

- It's off-line.
- I'm talking about the portable one.

The one in the away kit.

Ten million kilometres, maybe 20.
But I highly doubt

there'd be a ship
anywhere close to that.

We've only got ten days
worth of breathable air.

- How far to Echo Three?
- At impulse?

A lot more than ten days.

If we could get close enough
for it to pick up our distress beacon,

it'd relay the signal back to Starfleet.

I'm afraid the math
doesn't work out, commander.

It's going to take weeks,
maybe months

for our signal to reach Echo Three.

By the time Starfleet
got a ship out here, we'd be...

- We'd be long dead.
- But at least they'd find us.

They'd get their shuttlepod back,

a couple of...

- Well-preserved corpses.
- Sir.

- Which way?
- Which way to what?

Echo Three.
Which way to Echo Three?

- I told you, it's too far.
- Do you know which direction it is,

- or don't you?
- Navigation is down.

- That's not what I asked you!
- You want me to guess?

You come from a long line of navy
men, and you got a good memory.

Look hard at those stars, find
something that looks familiar,

- and tell me which way to go.
- Sir.

That's an order!

I don't suppose
you have a sextant handy.

I left it with my slide rule.

Well?

That blue giant, we may have
gone by it. I'm not sure.

That's good enough for me.

Take one more low pass
over the wreckage.

And then set a course.

See you around, captain.

Personal log,
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

November 9th, 2151.

By the time anyone hears this,

by anyone, I suppose
I mean anyone human,

Commander Tucker and I
will be long dead.

It's my intention
to recount the events

that led to the destruction
of the starship Enterprise,

and to express my deepest feelings

regarding my short,
but memorable service with Starfleet.

Tell them I'd love to add my two cents,
but I'm trying to get a little work done.

- Short, but memorable service
with Starfleet.

In order to test the targeting
scanners on Shuttlepod One,

Commander Tucker and I
had to get at least 20,000 kilometres

from Enterprise.

During our third trial, we experienced
a brief, but sizable jolt.

And shortly thereafter, realised
that our sensor array had gone off-line.

This sensor array is more than off-line.
It's totally fried.

- That our sensor array
had gone of-line.

We had no choice
but to head back to the asteroid field,

where Enterprise was involved
in a mapping project.

We found the ship destroyed.

It's debris strewn across
a square kilometre

of one of the larger asteroids.

Had our sensors been working,

we certainly would've done
everything possible

to determine the cause
of the disaster.

But as it was, with only a short-range
distress beacon and limited air,

we had no alternative
but to set a course for Echo Three,

where someday this vessel...

eventually this log, will be found.

May God have mercy on our souls.

Why don't you cut the crap
and get back here and help me?

- What would you like me to do?
- I don't know.

You could hold this flashlight, or turn
down the heat, whatever you want.

I'm just getting a little tired
of listening to all your pessimism.

If there's something
you need me to do,

I will be more than happy to comply.

But I'm afraid pessimism

is simply not an accurate description
of my log entry.

I'm just being realistic, commander.

We've got nine days.

We're bound
to find someone out here.

At warp, perhaps.

- But at impulse?
- Vulcans, Klingons,

Suliban, Xyrillians, Andorians.

God knows who's gonna be lurking
around the next planet we run into.

But that's just it, sir.

At impulse, we're not likely
to be running into any planets.

Not for at least six or seven years.

Then somebody could run into us.
You ever think of that?

Or see us on their sensors.
The possibilities are endless.

I'll heat up some rations.

Unless you'd rather wait until we run
into a vessel serving proper meals?

Rations will be fine.

What are you in the mood for?

Depends.
What are you serving?

Veal Marsala...

...Chilean sea bass...

...Moo Goo Gai Pan.

Any meatloaf?

- With gravy and mashed potatoes.
- Perfect.

Kentucky bourbon.

Yeah, the captain was planning
to give that to somebody.

Can't remember who.

Guess it's ours now.

- What's that?
- The sea bass.

Any good?

It's lovely. Thank you.

Captain Archer claims you told him
you weren't even aware

that I was serving on Enterprise.

I find that difficult to believe,

considering I wrote you twice
in the weeks prior to our departure.

Now, it is possible that you
never received those letters.

You were, I believe, in the process
of moving back to Malaysia at the time.

But you must have spoken
to Aunt Sherry during that period.

And I know she received my letters.

I would hate to go to my death

thinking that either of you
felt I was trying to...

Malcolm!

You've been at it for hours now.

Don't you think it's time
to give it a rest?

As I'm sure you must have heard,

that was my esteemed colleague,
Commander Charles Tucker.

Mr Tucker doesn't share my belief

that it is essential
to say what must be said.

To leave a record,
tie up loose ends.

Mr Tucker is labouring
under the false hope

that we are going to be miraculously
rescued before we both suffocate.

Mr and Mrs Reed...

I realise you've just begun
a period of mourning,

and that I'll never get
an answer to this question,

but I gotta ask it anyway.

Was Malcolm always this cynical?

In a few days, when the reality of this
situation actually begins to sink in,

you might very well decide you want
to record some logs of your own.

You have my word,
I will not interrupt you.

I just need to get
some sleep, Malcolm.

Is that so hard to understand?

We have less than nine days
of oxygen left.

It seems a waste
to use it up sleeping.

If I don't waste some oxygen sleeping,
I'm gonna start getting real cranky.

And you don't wanna spend
your last nine days

cooped up with me when I'm cranky.

So turn that thing off
and get some rest.

We're back.

Lie still, lieutenant.

What happened?

- How did we...?
- You're a very brave man, Malcolm.

Commander Tucker is gonna
be fine, thanks to you.

- I'm afraid I don't understand.
- Get some rest.

There will be plenty of time to explain
what happened in the morning.

Sub-commander?

How are you feeling?

I'd feel a lot better
if I knew what was going on.

Captain Archer would be
quite annoyed with me

if I told you of your heroics.

I believe he's looking forward
to doing that himself in the morning.

Heroics?

I had no idea
you could be so selfless.

In the face of such danger,
most males of your species

would've given in to their fear.

Well...

since you're obviously not
going to tell me what happened...

I suppose a simple
good night will have to do.

Vulcans can never ignore courage.

And this Vulcan...

will never ignore Lieutenant
Malcolm Reed again.

I can't say I've ever
ignored you, T'Pol.

Is it all right if I call you T'Pol?

Yes.

May I call you Malcolm?

I suppose so.

But if the truth be known, I've never
much cared for the name Malcolm.

Always seemed a bit too stuffy.

I think it's a lovely name.

Mol-Kom is the Vulcan
word for serenity.

Well then...

perhaps I won't change it.

Pity though...

I was rather growing fond
of the name:

"Stinky."

I can't believe you just did that.

- Did what?
- You smiled.

I saw you smile.

Vulcans don't smile.

This one does.

I saw you.

You're mistaken.

It was when I said Stinky, wasn't it?

You smiled when I said Stinky.

Good morning, Stinky.

It's a lovely day, isn't it, Stinky?

- What's that?
- I got the receiver working,

but the transmitter's a lost cause.
Who's Stinky?

I beg your pardon?

You were talking in your sleep.

Kept calling for some guy
named Stinky.

You repaired the receiver.

What is that?
Is it a ship?

The range is very limited.

It's probably just white noise.

The sound of the galaxy
laughing at us.

- What the hell was that?
- I don't know,

but it felt a little like whatever
knocked out the sensor array.

We're losing atmosphere.
Pressure's down 8 percent.

- Help me, we gotta find the hole.
- Without sensors,

it's not gonna be easy
to locate the breach.

Then use your ears.

- Pressure's down 22 percent.
- The damn hole's too small.

Where is it?

- What are you doing?
- It's nitrogen for the coolant tanks.

Just give me a few seconds.

Now let's find that leak.

I got it.
It's over here.

There's another one down here.

Put your finger on it
until we can figure out what to do.

We've got some valve sealant
in storage bin three.

Have we got anything a little closer?

- Do you mind passing your meatloaf?
- What?

I assume you're finished with it.

And you came close to criticising
my choice of cuisine.

Obviously, whatever hit us
went clear through the pod.

I'm afraid it did more than just
puncture the cabin, commander.

On its way out, it was kind enough
to rupture one of the O2 cylinders.

Great.

How much closer
to oblivion are we?

We've got less than
two days of air left.

The skin of this pod is designed
to deflect a meteor

five times the size of this hole.

Well, in that case,
I'd guess it wasn't a meteor.

I wonder if something
like it destroyed Enterprise.

We'll never know.

Always the optimist.

We have 40 hours of air left.

What do you expect me to do,
sit here and plan my wedding?

I'm confident there'll be
a Charles Tucker IV one day.

Then maybe it's your wedding
we should be planning.

That's assuming we can find you
a bride in the next day and a half.

Any suggestions?

There was a little bar in Mill Valley

where all the Starfleet
trainees used to go.

- The 602 Club.
- You know it?

I was there more times
than I can remember.

I met the girl of my dreams
my first Friday night there.

She was the one,
there's no doubt about it.

We had it all figured out.

Where we'd live,
how many kids we'd have.

Ah, Ruby.

- Whatever happened to you?
- Ruby?

- You don't mean the waitress Ruby?
- You knew Ruby?

I knew her more times
than I can remember.

Ouch.

Seems we have more in common
than we thought.

Yeah.

Would another half-day
be worth freezing your butt off?

- What are you talking about?
- If we lower the thermostat in here

to about minus five centigrade...

...we should be able to use that power
to enhance the efficiency

of the atmosphere recyclers.

Our last two and a half
days freezing,

versus our last two days
toasty warm.

What a delightful choice.

I'd pick freezing.
Another half-day is another half-day.

Freezing it is, then.

- And just what are you doing?
- An officer at his best

is always well-groomed.

Nice to see you're developing
a more positive attitude.

Actually...

...I was thinking about
what our corpses would look like

when they're eventually found.

With no air in the pod, we should
remain in fairly good condition.

Charming.

- But you're forgetting one thing.
- What's that?

If I remember my honours
biology course correctly,

your hair and nails keep growing
for quite a while after you're dead.

I'm pretty sure
that includes your beard.

Thanks.

Come in.

I've analysed the scans we took of the
Tesnian ship right before it crashed.

I believe they were hit
by a micro-singularity.

- You still chasing gremlins?
- This is no myth, captain.

Three of the singularities
also hit Enterprise.

They collided with our hull plating
here, here and here.

You're telling me
these are tiny black holes?

They were.

The dispersal patterns suggest
they dissipated on impact.

This could be
a significant discovery, captain.

If we could get quantum sensor
readings of the three impact points,

we could authenticate our findings.

I'd be a little less concerned with
winning the Nobel Prize right now,

and a little more concerned
with Trip and Malcolm.

Their shuttlepod doesn't have
the hull plating we do.

They could be in for a rough ride when
they get back to the asteroid field.

Better hail them.
Agree to a new rendezvous point.

I never intended to suggest
that our crewmembers

were less important
than a scientific discovery.

Even one of this historic magnitude.

Time's a-wasting.

My dearest Deborah:

By this time, I'm certain
you've learned of the tragedy

that befell the starship Enterprise.

You've also learned that my colleague,
Commander Charles Tucker and I

did manage to survive
for a few days after the accident.

It's during that brief time that
I've chosen to correspond with you.

Although our relationship
was short-lived,

and at times tumultuous...

...I can't help but picture
your beautiful smile.

It gives me great comfort.

Think of me from time to time.

Cordially, Malcolm.

A ship?

It's a little more modulated
than the last one.

But it could be just
a random gamma-ray burst.

My dearest Rochelle:

By this time, I'm certain
you've learned of...

Wouldn't it be easier
to record one message

and then add the
"Dear Whoever" afterward?

This is your fifth or sixth
identical letter.

That's not true.
There have been subtle differences.

I would never refer to Rochelle
as having a beautiful smile.

With her, it was the eyes.

Travis and Hoshi couldn't have
been more than 24, 25 years old.

If the captain were here with us now...

...I wonder if he'd feel guilty
about bringing them on this mission.

Not for a minute.
They died doing what they love.

I don't remember Hoshi loving much
about being in deep space.

Oh, she was coming along.

She saved our asses
on more than one occasion.

I plan on letting her family
know just how essential she was.

Sounds to me like you do have
some letters to record.

I'll wait to tell them in person.

You know, your treacly optimism

is beginning to get
just a little bit tiresome.

Unlike your heartfelt letters of farewell
to half the girls in San Francisco?

At least I'm capable
of accepting our fate.

We're going to be dead
in about 33 hours.

Whether our beards continue
to grow or not is of no concern to me.

We will be dead. And unless some
ship happens to cross our path,

our bearded bodies will be discovered
in about three or four years.

Is that optimistic enough for you?

What's your problem
with having a little hope?

What's your problem
with facing the truth?

You're a regular Grim Reaper,
Malcolm. Anyone ever tell you that?

Well, if this little trip
is a death sentence,

then it would seem to me
we're entitled to a last meal.

What'll it be? I'm afraid our selection
is somewhat limited.

I'm not hungry.

Well then, how about a drink?

I don't drink on duty.

Are you serious?

We're dead men, remember?

What's the matter, lieutenant?

Are you afraid the autopsy will show

your blood alcohol level
was too high to pilot a shuttle?

Live a little.

That's an order.

Do you really think
that's gonna provide any heat?

The bourbon'll provide the heat.

The candle's just for mood.

To the brave men and women...

...of the starship Enterprise.

You know that's gonna
consume oxygen, don't you?

We'll probably be dead five or six
minutes earlier than we would've been.

I can live with that.

Anyway, seems to me as far as you're
concerned, the sooner the better.

Is that really how you see me?

The eternal pessimist?

The Grim Reaper?

I don't want to die.
What makes you think I want to die?

Because ever since we saw Enterprise
spread across that asteroid,

you've done nothing
but write your own obituary.

I lost nearly everyone
I cared about on that ship.

Those girls I talked about.

Rochelle, Deborah, Catelin.

None of them worked out
because I could...

never get very close to them.

Never got very close to my
family either, for that matter.

Not that it's any business of yours.

But with the crew of the Enterprise,
it was different.

I was really starting to feel...

comfortable with them.

Now the only one that's left
thinks I'm the bloody Angel of Death.

All of a sudden, five or six more
minutes sounds kind of nice.

Does that sound
modulated enough for you?

Modulated?

The radio.

Or is it just the galaxy
giggling at us again?

It can giggle all it wants,

but the galaxy's not getting
any of our bourbon.

Hey...

what do you think of T'Pol?

- Do you think she's pretty?
- T'Pol?

Are you serious?

Well, she is a woman, you know.

I think she's pretty.

You've had too much to drink.

Don't tell me you've never looked
at her, you know, in that way.

No, she's a Vulcan.

Well, I think she's pretty.

Oh, God.

- You ever noticed her bum?
- What?

Her bum.

She's got an awfully nice bum.

To Sub-commander T'Pol.

Awfully nice.

- It's probably nothing, right?
- It's definitely not nothing.

Well, then that means
it's something.

What is it?

Well, is it something or someone,
because if it's someone...

Sorry.

Definitely someone.

We have no way to respond, do we?

This is like the plane flying over the
desert island in a lost-at-sea movie.

- Malcolm!
- Sorry.

Happy endings.

I must think happy endings.

Shuttlepod One, this is Enterprise.

- Please respond.
- That's Hoshi.

- Transmitting new coordinates.
- That's impossible.

Don't be so pessimistic.
It's not impossible.

It's Hoshi.

They're okay.

Enterprise is okay.

It's Hoshi.

Adjust your heading
to the new coordinates.

We will rendezvous in two days.

Commander and lieutenant,
please respond.

"Rendezvous."

What a beautiful word.

What's wrong?

They're still two days away.

And we only have a little more
than one day's air left.

And no way to tell them
to get here sooner.

Are you sure you got
the coordinates right?

Yes.

- Not that it matters.
- Lieutenant.

They're probably travelling at what,
warp 2, warp 3?

Compared to them,
we're like a garden snail.

Where we go and how fast
we get there is irrelevant.

If I purge the CO2 filters,
it'll give us a little more air.

How much, an hour's worth?

- Probably less.
- Great.

So when they reach us in two days,

we'll have been out of air
for... 11 hours.

You ever try holding your breath
for 11 hours?

A train leaves New York
at 3 a.m. Heading west,

while another leaves Chicago
at 4:30 heading east.

I never could figure those out.

Enterprise is going to wonder
why we haven't responded, right?

Maybe they'll be concerned
and increase their speed.

Maybe, but if we really wanna
get them to go to high warp,

we're gonna have to
attract their attention.

Something a little more dramatic
than not answering their hails.

Can they see us on their sensors?

Two days away at warp 3?

Oh, they can see us,
maybe not too clearly...

...but we should be a nice little blip
on T'Pol's viewer.

Then we've got to get that blip
to tell them to pick up a little steam.

What if we fired our weapons?

They're nearly a quarter
of a light-year away.

Our plasma cannons have a range
of less than ten kilometres.

It would all still look like a single blip.

It's gonna take a lot more than that.

What if we jettison
the impulse drive?

What good would that do?

Well, you could rig a self-destruct.

I imagine that would make
quite an explosion.

Maybe even big enough to make
that blip do something odd.

No, I can't blow up our engine.

- We'd be adrift, dead in space.
- What's the difference between that

and travelling at a snail's pace?

I'm an engineer.
I won't blow up our only engine.

Then I'll ask you again.

Ever hold your breath for 11 hours?

I think I have some micro-detonators
in here somewhere.

How does it feel
to be slower than a snail?

I saw a great cartoon once.

There were these two snails
sitting on the back of a big old turtle.

One snail turns to the other
and says,

"Hold on, Fred.

Here we go."

If I'm right,
I get the rest of the bourbon.

Fine. Less than 12 hours, you win.

More than 12...

...and it's mine.

Go check the pressure gauge.

You check it.
I don't think I can move my legs.

I can't believe
we've been sitting here that long.

Come on, let's hear it.

How much air's left?

Ten hours.

That's probably
the last bet I'll ever make.

And I won.

I should feel like celebrating,
shouldn't I?

The whiskey's yours.

Now, why don't you give us a toast
before you drink it?

Ten hours for two men.

If there were only one of us,
he'd have 20 hours, wouldn't he?

Great idea.

Why don't you climb up
into the airlock and seal yourself in?

That's just what I was thinking.

Any last words
you want me to pass along?

Yeah.

Tell Captain Archer...

that it was one hell of an honour
serving with him.

What are you doing?

We don't know whether or not they
saw our little display of pyrotechnics.

But either way,
this'll double your chances.

- You're crazy. Get down from there!
- Sit down, lieutenant.

If anyone should go up in there,
it should be me.

- You're the chief engineer.
- I'm also in charge of deciding

who's going into this airlock.
Do I make myself clear?

Commander.

What are you gonna do, kill me?

It's set to stun.
I don't want to use it, but I will.

- Put it down.
- Go to hell!

Stop trying to be a hero.
It doesn't suit you.

What would you know
about being a hero?

It takes nothing but a coward
to crawl up inside a hole to die.

Then go ahead and shoot me.

But you better hope we don't make it,
because if we survive,

the first thing I'm gonna do is bust your
ass back to Crewman Second Class.

Be my guest.
I could use a little less responsibility.

- Now, get down here.
- Who the hell do you think you are?

Your armoury officer,
and perhaps your friend.

Friends don't shoot each other.

You know, I'm not a doctor,

but I'm pretty sure you use up a lot
more oxygen when you shout like that!

So, what are you saying?

That you'd rather have Enterprise
find the two of us dead in here?

That's exactly what I'm saying.

If there's one chance
in a thousand...

that they saw
our impulse drive explode,

that they increased their speed...

I�ll take that chance.

I've invested far too much time
trying to figure you out, Mr Tucker.

I'm not about to accept
that it was all for nothing.

We're back.

- How...?
- Easy, Malcolm.

You fellas had a nice little
bout with hypothermia.

- The commander?
- He's gonna be fine.

It took nearly three hours to get your
body temperatures back to normal.

You must have seen the explosion.

Hard to miss.

You know, you guys only had
two or three hours of air left.

You don't say.

We saw debris from Enterprise
on one of the asteroids.

We assumed...

We thought you were all...

I'll tell you all about it
in the morning.

Right now, the doctor needs
to warm you up a few degrees.

Sub-commander.

Yes?

Isn't there something
you're supposed to say to me?

About what?

Heroics.

Something about heroics.

Good night, lieutenant.

Trip?

Mind if I call you Trip?

Sleep well, my friend.