Original subtitles

Station Log, Stardate 46925.1.

We have been honored with a visit

by a delegation of Federation ambassadors

on a fact-finding mission to the wormhole.

Fortunately, I have just the officer

to take them off my hands.

I only wish there was something I could do, Ambassador.

Madam Ambassador.

Madam Ambassador.

But all the guest quarters on the station

are roughly the same size.

Then move me to the crew level.

All the quarters on the crew level

are currently occupied.

Then someone can move.

You, for example.

She did the same thing during the voyage here.

She's never satisfied.

At least I didn't bother the Captain every hour

with some new suggestion on how to run his ship.

He welcomed my suggestions

as I'm sure your Commander Sisko will welcome them

if we ever get to spend any time with him.

Well, Commander Sisko is extremely busy.

With what?

With... the... recalibration sweep.

What are you recalibrating?

Mmm? Everything.

Um, it's a sweeping...

uh, a recalibration of all systems.

I cannot speak for the others, but I would be fascinated

to observe this recalibration, Doctor.

You would?

Well, after your long trip

I thought you might enjoy stopping by a holosuite.

Are you actually suggesting

we indulge in one of those disgusting Ferengi sex programs?

No.

I... the holosuites are capable of many different...

Of course

that's what he was suggesting.

The Arbazan are so sexually repressed.

Why, this is outrageous.

Perhaps we should all just get some rest.

I did not come all this way to rest, Doctor.

I would like to see your facility.

A first-year officer assigned as our liaison.

Starfleet Command will hear of this.

Ambassador... Madam Ambassador

I'm only...

Oh, where is it?!

Oh, it's gone, it's gone!

What's gone, Madam Ambassador?

Oh, my latinum hairbrooch.

Quark!

I had just made my third straight cross.

I was leaning across the table to pick up the dice again

something brushed against me

and my God!

I've been wigged.

What's the problem, here?

Someone has stolen Ambassador Troi's latinum hairbrooch.

I'm sorry, but as the sign says, the establishment

is not responsible

for the loss of any personal items.

Sign? What sign?

The one above the door.

You'd have to stand on a chair to read that.

House rules.

I'm very sorry.

Have a nice day.

You are dealing

with the daughter of the Fifth House

Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx

Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed.

Not my ear, please!

Yes, and I know where it hurts the most

you little troll.

Now, I want this room sealed

and I want everyone in it strip-searched

until you find my brooch.

May I be of service?

Oh, thank goodness.

Our Chief of Security, Odo.

What seems to be the problem?

Well, my brooch has been stolen.

It's been in my family for 36 generations.

It's absolutely priceless and I want it back.

You're certain you were wearing it today?

Yes, of course I'm certain.

I never use this hair without it.

I see.

You're... Betazoid?

Of course.

Telepathic?

Yes.

And you sense no guilt anywhere in this room?

No, but Betazoids cannot read Ferengis.

Quark has plenty of reason to feel guilty

but he usually doesn't have to resort to petty theft

to fleece his clients.

Thank you.

Wait a minute.

Empty your pockets now.

Well...

since when did you join Starfleet?

That's it... that's my brooch.

But how did you know?

Dopterians are distant relatives of the Ferengi.

It made sense that, since you couldn't read Quark

you might not be able to read this charming fellow either.

Oh, how perfectly brilliant of you.

Doctor, I want to know everything there is to know

about your Security Chief.

Computer, is the diagnostic

on the fusion power plant finished yet?

Affirmative.

The fusion power plant is operating

within normal parameters.

What are you talking about?

It's 13% below normal.

Cardassian specifications

accept operating efficiency within 20%.

Well, I don't.

Anara.

Yes, sir.

How much do you know about carbon reaction chambers?

I've learned a little about laser-induced fusion

not much more than the basics.

Ah, it's a bloody inefficient system.

I'd trade it in for a Federation model tomorrow if I could

but it's all we've got.

Do me a favor.

Keep an eye on the exhaust plasma temperature.

Computer, increase deuterium flow

by five percent to reaction chamber two.

Procedure is not recommended.

Look, I've had enough of your opinions, damn it.

Just do it!

Procedure is not recommended.

Consult Cardassian operational guidelines

paragraph 254-A, now on screen.

I don't want to read your tech manual.

Fine.

We'll do it ourselves.

Reinitializing reactor two.

Directing plasma flow to conduits 143, 144...

Chief O'Brien, the power flow from reactor two

has just been shut down.

What?

Computer, analyze reactor two failure.

Reactor two was shut down after sensors detected

a potential overload of the carbon reaction chambers.

That's it. That's the straw!

Relax, Chief.

It's just a computer.

This is no computer.

This is my archenemy.

You've got it working just fine, as far I can tell.

Fine? With all due respect, Commander

as an engineer, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror

if I allowed this computer

to continue to perform as it is now.

I'll have to do a root canal.

Root canal?

It's engineering shorthand, sir.

I'll have to get into its guts

and rebuild it from the ground up.

How long will that take?

Well, I'm still not that familiar

with Cardassian technology

but, oh, I guess no more than two, three years.

That's going to take a lot of man-hours.

Is it really necessary?

You don't understand...

Let's just say I don't have

your sensitivity to the computer.

That's all right. Forget about it.

Uh, Chief...

It's all right. It doesn't matter.

Chief, I want you to do what you have to do.

Thank you, sir.

I'll get right on it.

And this is Ops.

The heart and soul of Deep Space 9.

Ah, there you are, Commander.

Gentlemen, Madam Ambassador.

They insisted on seeing operations, sir.

Of course.

Make yourselves at home.

I trust that Doctor Bashir

has been taking care of all your needs.

Well, he refuses to change my accommodations.

Accommodations?

Well, if I have to sleep another night

on a Cardassian bed with gargoyles staring at me

from the wood poles...

Commander.

An unidentified vessel is coming through the wormhole.

On screen. Excuse me.

Uh, you'll get a better view from over here.

Quite a sight, isn't it?

That's it?

That's the whole thing?

Well, yes, it is.

I was expecting more, somehow.

Scanners aren't picking up any life-forms on board.

A probe?

Might be.

I'm reading an extensive computer array

but no signals to suggest it's trying to maintain contact

with a mother ship.

Are the computers compatible with ours?

It's hard to tell.

I don't recognize any known subprocessor patterns.

Obviously, the young woman doesn't have

the necessary experience.

Perhaps I can...

The "young woman" over there

has over 300 years experience, Ambassador.

I might have better luck

if we towed it into the docking ring.

No, not until we know a little bit more about it.

Major, tow it to 500 meters off the docking ring.

Yes, sir.

Mr. O'Brien, try to set up an adaptive interface link

and see if we can download any information from it.

Aye, sir.

I think it will be best if we clear this area.

But this probe may represent contact with a new species.

Commander, I think it would be appropriate

for at least one Federation ambassador

to be present at this historic occasion

and since I have a particular interest

in First Contact procedures...

I appreciate your interest, Ambassador

and to keep you all informed, I'm scheduling a briefing

at 0400.

In the meantime, Dr. Bashir

the best place to view this probe

is from the docking ring near Port Seven.

I'll show them the way.

Such concentration.

Such intensity, such passion for your work.

Tracking intergalactic malefactors.

Most people find it rather tedious.

Tedious?

No, those of us who have been beneficiaries

of your heroism

would never call your work tedious.

We've learned that, on this station

you are the thin, beige line between order and chaos.

That's my job.

Now, what can I do for you?

You haven't lost anything else, I hope.

Only my heart.

I beg your pardon?

Is, um...

is Odo your first or last name?

Yes.

Oh. Then I can just call you, uh?

Odo.

It has a certain lyrical quality.

Lyrical?

Odo...

It rolls off the tongue.

Uh...

I have a lot of work to do.

I understand you're a shape-shifter.

That's correct.

I've never been with a shape-shifter.

"Been with?"

I've heard that you're the only one of your kind.

So far.

Mmm.

All the men I've known

have needed to be shaped, and molded, and manipulated

and finally I've met a man

who knows how to do it himself.

Oh...

Is that the com?

I think it is.

Excuse me.

I've got to get to Ops.

Initiating high-resolution scan.

Memory nodes located.

Proceeding with data transfer.

Yeah, there you go.

Who would have thought?

You seem surprised, Chief.

Well, knowing this computer, I thought I would have had

to reconfigure the whole emulator module

to make it compatible with the probe

but it's cooperating for once.

Transfer of data is complete.

Well done, computer.

Computer, run standard code translations

on probe data.

Isolate syntax results.

Processing.

Stand by.

Come in.

Yes, Odo.

Commander...

I have a problem.

Quark again?

No, sir.

This one is named Lwaxana.

Lwaxana Troi, the ambassador?

That's her.

There was a minor incident at the bar

that I helped her with, and now she's...

grateful.

What's the problem?

The manner in which she expresses her gratitude.

To be honest, Commander, she seems...

interested in me.

What's wrong with that?

She's extremely aggressive.

I see. So she's after you.

Like a Wanoni tracehound.

Have you thought of letting her catch you?

Sir?

A little romance, Odo.

I have six pylons that need a complete security sweep.

I don't have time for romantic interludes.

Frankly, in my humble opinion, most of you humanoids

spend far too much time

on your respective mating rituals.

It does help the procreation of one's species.

Procreation does not require changing how you smell

or writing bad poetry, or sacrificing various plants

to serve as tokens of affection.

In any event, it's all irrelevant to me.

I'm sorry to hear that.

I would appreciate it if you would

do something about this woman.

Me?

Just tell her to leave me alone.

Constable, you can handle

thieves and killers, but not one Betazoid woman?

I understand thieves and killers.

I don't understand... her.

I can't help you, Odo.

I'm just trying to avoid a diplomatic incident.

I don't want to insult the Ambassador.

A reasonable concern.

I suggest you handle the matter with great delicacy.

I don't handle "delicacy" very well.

The probe appears to be made

out of some sort of corundium alloy.

Analysis of all subprocessor modules is complete.

Already?

On screen.

Lieutenant?

No science modules

no communications system

and enough computer capacity to run

a Galaxy-class starship.

It's very odd.

That's an awful lot of computer hardware

simply to navigate a probe.

Anything?

Nothing to suggest the probe's mission...

or any hint of its origin.

Ah! There you are, Odo!

Have you ever been

on the fourth moon of Andevian II at dawn?

Can't say I have.

I have the most wonderful holoprogram.

And I've reserved a suite for us

with that Quark person.

You told Quark that you were going into a holosuite with me?

Well, of course.

He's preparing a special picnic basket for us.

Good Lord.

I'm afraid I'm not available.

I have to get to Upper Pylon 3 immediately.

Madam Ambassador...

Oh, Lwaxana.

Um... Upper Pylon 3.

I've always wanted to see an upper pylon.

I know... I'll have Quark

send one of his minions with our basket.

We'll have our picnic up there.

Madam Ambassador...

Oh, Lwaxana.

I don't eat.

This is not a real mouth.

It is an approximation of one.

I do not have an esophagus or a stomach

or a digestive system.

I am not like you.

Every 16 hours, I turn into a liquid.

I can swim.

Oh...

Computer?

Computer!

Odo to Ops.

Go ahead, Odo.

Ambassador Troi and I are stuck in Turbolift 7.

What's going on?

Power to the pylon turbolifts has failed.

We're reading a turbolift failure, Odo.

We'll beam you out.

Locking on.

Prepare to transport.

Ready.

Energizing.

Well?

Looks like the transporter is down, too.

But don't worry, Constable.

We'll get it repaired right away.

Dax to Chief O'Brien.

Please report to Ops immediately.

Be patient, Odo.

We'll get you out of there as soon as we can.

Well, alone at last.

Electromotive coil functions, normal.

Load detection functions, normal.

Diagnostic complete.

I don't get it.

Every component of the turbolift power net

seems to be operational.

We can't find anything wrong with the transporter.

Great, everything's in working order

except nothing's working.

How do we get our people out of the turbolift, Chief?

Well, if we were on a starship, I'd reroute the EPS power flow

in a couple of hours, but, with this computer

there's no telling how long it'll take.

Get it started.

Kira to Odo.

Yes, Major?

I'm sorry, but you're going

to have to stay put for a while longer.

Define "a while."

I wish I knew.

By the way, Cardassian turbolifts

run exposed, multi-phased alternating currents

through their positioning mechanisms

so don't try to shape-shift your way out.

I wouldn't think of it.

Besides, it wouldn't be polite.

I didn't hear that.

It wouldn't be polite.

Understood.

Kira out.

Do you suppose that we're, uh...

we're actually in any danger?

Not if we remain calm.

Ah.

Well, then we might as well enjoy ourselves.

Uh, we can take the opportunity to get to know each other.

I'd really prefer to pass the time quietly.

- Quietly. - Quietly.

Of course.

Thank you.

Mmm.

The quiet man.

Hmm.

You know, I've always been attracted to quiet men.

Odd, isn't it?

But maybe there's

more truth than we realize to that old axiom that op...

Quietly.

Odo.

Yes?

I don't think I can.

Can what?

Well, you don't have to say another word

as long as we're here

but I, I think I really need to talk.

I understand.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

Of course not.

No, things could be much worse.

Really?

My daughter and I were once trapped

aboard a Ferengi cargo ship, and it was dreadful.

Well, all right, it wasn't actually dreadful.

It was mildly lamentable

and it was all because of that loathsome DaiMon.

Well...

actually, he wasn't altogether loathsome.

He was just slightly repulsive.

But he did have a certain charm...

in an insufferable kind of way.

Of course, he was totally at the mercy

of his uncontrollable passion for me

which means he wasn't all bad, now, doesn't it?

And you know, it wasn't all passion, no.

There was some negligible commercial interest involved

but, oh, the passion...

oh, that was... that was perfectly real

and kind of, um, kind of sweet in a way.

He was so helpless.

At first, it was totally a question of expediency

when I made love with him.

What are you looking at?

- Hmm? - Hmm?

Oh.

Uh, nothing.

I was just wondering how many volts

are in that exposed circuit.

Go on. Go on.

Well... frankly

by the time one thing led to another...

Think of it as an opportunity, Doctor.

You never know when a friendly ambassador

is going to be in the right place

at the right time to help your career.

Another hour with them could destroy my career.

It's a simple job.

Just keep them happy and away from me.

Simple?

Nothing makes them happy.

They are dedicated to being unhappy

and to spreading that unhappiness wherever they go.

They are the Ambassadors of Unhappy.

All of us have had these assignments, Doctor.

Have you, sir?

As a matter of fact

Curzon Dax used to take perverse pleasure

in assigning me to take care of VIP guests.

Oh, so now you take the same perverse pleasure

in doing it to me.

Exactly.

May I ask, sir

when you graduated from this sort of assignment?

The day I hit one of the guests.

Hit one...

It was a simple misunderstanding

over his attempt to coax a young Ensign

to his quarters against her will.

But...

don't hit one of them, Doctor.

I'm not nearly as understanding as Curzon was.

Yes, sir.

Commander, can I talk to you?

It's about the computer, sir.

Still giving you problems?

No, sir, that's just the thing, it's not.

It rerouted the EPS power flow in less than an hour.

That's good news.

How soon can we get Odo and the Ambassador out?

We can't.

It didn't activate the turbolift circuits.

Don't ask me why.

You must have some idea of what's wrong.

I want you to listen to something.

Computer, analyze Ops 0-2 sensor readings.

All sensors read between 14.3 and 14.4 KSC.

Computer, restart all shield generator subsystems.

Shield generator subsystems set to active status.

Reading 98.3% efficiency.

Do you hear it?

Hear what?

The voice... it's not the same attitude.

It sounds like the computer.

Sir, when you work with a computer as much as I do

you get to know it.

They're all very different.

Working with the Enterprise computer

was like dancing a waltz.

With this computer, it's always been like a wrestling match...

till we started downloading the probe.

You think some kind of program from the probe

is influencing our computer?

Well, it's got to be more than just a program, sir.

The computer's whole personality has changed.

It's not resisting any commands

offering any opinions, giving any arguments

and there's this one other crazy thing

I'm almost afraid to mention.

What's that?

Every time I leave

something happens to bring me back.

Bring you back?

To the computer... like the failures

to the turbolifts and the transporters.

A few minutes ago, I was working at the transporter pad

and the com lines went down

and when I broke for a quick bite to eat

we had a replicator failure.

It's almost like the computer

doesn't want me to leave it alone.

You almost make it sound like a child.

Station Log, supplemental.

Odo and Ambassador Troi remain trapped in Turbolift 4.

As of yet, we have been unable to ascertain what it is

that's causing the station's computer to malfunction.

What if it's some kind of nonbiological life-form

we've never seen before?

Nonbiological?

Well, it all comes down to how we define life-form.

But just as biological organisms have evolved in our cultures

mechanical life could have done the same in others.

You're suggesting someone left a baby at our doorstep.

Possibly.

Do you think we can communicate with it?

Well, in a way, we already have.

I mean, it's part and parcel of our computer now.

But as far as direct communication is concerned

it may not be capable of that.

We haven't seen any evidence that this entity is sentient.

Maybe more like a stray puppy

that's attached itself to you, Chief.

Whatever it is, it's slowly disabling our station.

People, we've got to get it out of there.

It came here when we downloaded the probe's files.

If we upload those same files back to the probe

it might go with them.

What if it's fully integrated itself into our computer?

I don't think it has.

That would make it more like a virus.

But I don't see any evidence that it's trying to overwrite

our control networks or destroy our systems.

I think it's more likely that it simply

creates connections

with areas of the computer that are active.

Almost as though it feeds off the energy

of the computer functions.

If I'm right, transferring all of its programming

off the station might just solve our problems.

How long since we had any communication from Odo?

Com lines have been down over 90 minutes.

He's been in there almost four hours now.

Do you happen to know the schedule

of his regenerative cycle?

My God, I have no idea

but if he doesn't get back to his pail in time...

Subspace emitter aligned.

Outgoing data stream activated.

Computer, upload all probe command sequences

back to probe's computer.

Stand by.

Unable to complete requested function.

Please abort and retry.

Reset subspace emitter.

Reinitialize data stream.

Receptors open.

Control relays activated.

Upload all probe command sequences

back to probe's computers.

Stand by.

It's not as easy as I thought it would be, Commander.

Is it just the lights or the heat, too?

I didn't bring any warm clothes.

I'm sure it's just temporary.

I've been reading the reports

of your Chief of Operations, Doctor.

They gave me the impression

that he was a competent engineer.

Chief O'Brien?

One of the best in Starfleet.

Then why aren't the backup systems functioning?

Well, you know

out here on the edge of the frontier

it's just one adventure after another.

Why don't I escort you all back to your quarters?

Where I'm sure we can all wait this one out.

But enough about me.

Hmm?

Enough about me.

Tell me about yourself.

I'm really a private man.

Yes, of course you are.

Is that hair real?

It is real in that it is me.

It is not real hair.

How did you do it?

Your hair.

It took a great deal of practice.

You studied hairstyles?

If you must know

I imitated the hairstyle

of the Bajoran man who was assigned to me.

Assigned?

To study me at the research center.

He was a scientist.

You mean that's how you grew up

in a laboratory?

I did not grow up

as you think of it.

It was merely a transition from what I used to be

to what I learned to become.

Oh.

It sounds very lonely to me.

I was always very self-sufficient.

I'm sure you had to be...

uh, to survive

being... being so different from everyone else.

Odo to Ops. Odo to Ops.

Com lines are still down.

I don't know what's taking so long.

Are you sure you're all right?

You look warm.

It's nothing. I'm fine.

Oh, I can't imagine how it must have been.

You know, if it bothers you to talk about this...

Not at all.

What was it like?

I guess you could say I was the life of the party.

I don't think I understand.

My way of trying to fit in...

I found I could be entertaining.

"Odo, be a chair."

I'm a chair.

"Odo, be a razorcat."

I'm a razorcat.

Life of the party.

I hate parties.

Perhaps you've been going to the wrong ones.

Come to one of mine, Odo.

I'll make sure that all the guests

are there to entertain you.

Now, now, you're not well.

No, it's fine.

It's just a...

I told you I turn into a liquid every 16 hours.

Well, I'm in hour 15.

Ready, Commander.

How long do you expect it to take?

Well, if it works

we ought to be able to get all the probe's files

manually transferred to the six isolinear rods

in less than 60 seconds.

Let's do it.

Computer, run a level-1 diagnostic

of all power systems on board.

Requested function will require 43 minutes.

Stand by.

Computer, give me an analysis

of all Cardassian traffic along the border.

Processing long-range sensors.

Stand by.

Computer, create a historical data base

for all known wormhole activity.

Indicate time parameters.

All known occurrences.

Requested function will require subspace link-up.

In that case, create a subspace link with Nehru Colony

New France Colony and Corado I Transmitter Array.

Attempting link-up.

Stand by...

Computer, access musical files in the Bajor Master Data Banks

and create a concert program of Bajoran serenas.

Stand... by...

Unable to...

Stand...

I'm reading a huge plasma surge in the Habitat Ring.

You tell Commander Sisko that I expect that probe briefing

to be held on schedule, lights or no lights.

I will surely pass that on, Ambassador.

We've got a plasma explosion

in corridor H-12-A, guest quarters.

The computer's not responding.

None of the fire suppression systems are coming on line.

I'm reading four life-forms in that corridor.

Major, you're with me.

Chief, get an emergency crew down there.

We'll need manual fire gear.

Aye, sir.

Phasers at maximum.

Toranium inlay, Cardassian design...

I should have guessed.

We're going to need a bipolar torch to get through it.

Then get a message to Ops.

Tell them it's going to take us a while to get inside.

If they can't get the fire suppression systems on line

we're going to lose our people in there.

Aye, sir.

It's not paying any attention to me.

I guess it just doesn't want to leave...

like a scared puppy.

We have no idea how long that probe was tumbling

through space... maybe years...

with that life-form alone on board.

It's sort of like shutting up a puppy in a room, you know?

I had a pup once.

If I had to lock him up

he'd scratch forever at the door trying to get out.

I'm not sure I know what you're getting at.

Pups don't like to be left alone.

They like attention.

This one is certainly getting a lot of it.

That's right.

So it's no wonder it doesn't want to leave.

Okay, but how is that going to help us?

Everything we've seen suggests

that this entity likes to be where the action is.

It seems to feed off the energy of an active computer.

We've been trying to separate it from what it thrives on.

We've got to do the exact opposite.

The exact opposite?

Lieutenant, I've got to build a doghouse.

Odo to Ops.

Odo out.

Odo, turn around.

I can't.

It's beginning.

It's all right.

You don't understand.

No one has ever seen me like this before.

Not even the scientist who was assigned to you?

That was different.

It was only research to him.

But you don't have to be ashamed with me.

I'm not ashamed.

It's a private matter, that's all.

How can I make it easier for you?

You can't.

I'm fine.

What's that?

My hair.

No one's ever seen me like this.

Why?

It looks fine.

It looks ordinary.

I've never cared to be ordinary.

So you see, Odo, even we non-shape-shifters

have to change who we are once in a while.

You are not at all what I expected.

No one's ever paid me a greater compliment.

I... cannot hold my shape any longer.

Let go.

I'll take care of you.

We're going to need portable oxygen

and get anything

Bashir has in stock to treat plasma burns.

Have a runabout ready

to evacuate these people to Bajor if we need to.

Yes, sir.

Anara?

The subprogram is ready, Chief.

Computer, analyze subprogram labeled "Pup."

Requested subprogram is a series of bidirectional data transfer

and monitoring commands.

Reroute all main computer backup functions

through this subprogram.

All backup functions rerouted.

Great.

Okay, computer.

Now, listen carefully.

I want to transfer all probe command sequences

out of core memory and into the subprogram, Pup.

Stand by.

Transfer complete.

Dax to Sisko.

Fire suppression is responding.

All systems are back on line.

Can you get in?

We're in, Dax. Stand by.

We'd better advise Starfleet Command.

Are you all right?

Here, take my hand, Madam Ambassador.

Watch your head.

Please, Julian.

Call me Taxco.

Ambassador, are you all right?

Yes. Thanks to Julian.

The Doctor was remarkably calm and logical

for a man of his years under such severe conditions.

We'll be putting him in for a commendation.

Nice work, Dr. Bashir.

Just in the right place at the right time, sir.

Well, it's about time.

I... know that wasn't exactly what you had in mind

for your picnic.

When it comes to picnics

the only thing that really matters

is the company.

Your sensitivity and discretion are appreciated.

Well...

next time you see me

I'll give you a lot more to appreciate.

How did you beat that thing in the computer, Chief?

I didn't.

He adopted it.

Adopted it?

Well, I was able to get our friend

out of the main command pathways and into a subprogram.

You're suggesting we leave it in there?

I don't see why not.

It's happy. It's not bothering us anymore.

Well, it seems the humane thing to do.

It's just another new life-form visiting the station.

I'll take care of it.

Make sure it gets enough attention and all.

Keep it off the furniture.

Yes, sir.