The aliens wait in Decon. One of them smells a jar of Decon gel and makes a face. Heh. Quantum lets them out and apologizes for making them wait so long in The Room Of Blue Lights Of Totally Gratuitous Nekkidity. Especially since they had to wait with their clothes on. Quantum tries to make buttinski small talk with the aliens, who tell him they're stellar cartographers. "Once we're out of the storm, maybe you could help us update our star charts," Quantum suggests. There's a pause. "We'd be pleased," one of the aliens says, his expression changing not one iota. Phlox leads them off as Quantum smiles benevolently. All three of them are rotund and balding; they kind of remind me of Pakleds, but with a slightly more extensive vocabulary.

Hullabaloo in the corridors as the qrew packs up their troubles with their sleeping bags and tin cups. A few guys grab EV suits from the EV suit closet. Trip calibrates and routes. As The Timpani And Trumpets Of Working Together boom, unnamed qrew stationed in shafts and corridors pass supplies and duffel bags to each other. T'Pol checks on Phlox in Sickbay and notes from his jumble that he's behind schedule. She asks if he needs help. Phlox bitches about not having enough space allotted to him and his prescriptive pets. "Perhaps some of your creatures could share," T'Pol suggests after sighing pensively. "They'll eat each other!" Phlox protests. Hee! That reminds me of the time I was flying from D.C. to Boston and we were in a long take-off queue. After a bit, the Southern Drawlin' Pilot came on to tell us to "relax and try not to bite the person next to you." Never laughed so hard on a plane in my life. "They're vital to my work and to the health of the crew!" Phlox pleads, not looking T'Pol in the eye. "I'm not accustomed to making emotional appeals -- please, don't ask me to choose between them." T'Pol allows him five more cubic meters. "My Edosian slugs thank you," Phlox tells her, turning away. T'Pol does a double-take as though she's not sure if he's joking or not.