The two crewmen weave in and out of other crewmembers hanging down from corridor ceilings, passing orders back and forth, causing circuits to shower sparks. "No doubt Mr. Tucker will reassure me my equipment will be here tomorrow: 'Keep yer shurt on, Lewtenent,'" Reed says in an exaggerated Southern accent. Mayweather asks him if he notices whether the artificial gravity feels "a bit heavy." Reed seems to think it feels okay, saying, "Earth sea level," by way of verification. Mayweather clasps his hands behind his back and says, "My father always kept it at point eight g," locking the Exposition Tractor Beam on his space travel background: "Thought it put a little spring in his step." Reed helps him redirect the Exposition Tractor Beam by saying, "After being raised on cargo ships, it must've felt like you had lead in your boots when you got to Earth."
They enter the Engineering Chamber, made up of steel tubes, catwalks, and ladders around a large pink-glowing warp core. A Southern accent says, "Beautiful! Lock it off right there," Ah, this must be Chief Engineer Charlie "Trip" Tucker III. I don't know how comfortable I'd feel if my Chief Engineer had somehow earned himself the nickname "Trip." Trip runs across a catwalk and down suspension steps to the front of the glowing warp core. He pats a capped technician on the shoulder and surveys the readings on the core. Whipping out a handkerchief, Trip polishes the edge of the warp core. "You missed a spot," Reed teases him from below. Trip turns around with a smile to greet his fellow accented crewmember. "Commander Tucker, Ensign Travis Mayweather, he just arrived," Reed says in introducing them. "Our 'Space Boomer,'" Trip says, reaching down to shake Mayweather's hand. Mayweather asks how fast Trip "has gotten her." "Warp four," Trip drawls, looking fondly at his core, "we'll be going to four-five soon's we clear Jupiter -- think you can handle it?" Mayweather grins, "Four point five?" and laughs incredulously. I just love how naively excited they are about going five-point-five slower than Picard's crew. "Pardon me," Reed interjects, raining on their parade, "but if I don't realign the deflector, the first grain of space dust we come across will blow a hole in this ship the size of your fist." "Keep yer shirt on, Lewtenent, yer equipment will be here in the mornin'," Trip tells him. Mayweather and Reed exchange amused looks.