Trip susses out the storm shelter with May-Backhanded-Compliment, who says, "Maybe we should open a window!" What a dumb comment from a "boomer." Shut up, May-Baklava. Trip tells him not to get too finicky too soon, what with the rest of the ship's humanity they still have to cram in there. May-Bacteria adds Porthos and Phlox's flora and fauna to the list. Trip asks if May-Backfleet-Boy ever ran into a storm like this before. The Boomer did, and says they had to take shelter in the ship's core for six weeks. Trip's impressed. "Any idea about a latrine?" May-Back-In-Black inquires. Trip hadn't thought of that yet. Don't know why, considering that subject seems to occupy his thoughts an awful lot of the time. Good ol' Malcolm Peed would have thought of it right away. I watched the Firefly pilot tonight, so now I can safely call two spacemen by that name. Trip thinks they can convert some storage lockers for that purpose. As long as he really means "convert" and not just "use." The two outriders walk to the new command central. "This'll be our Bridge," Trip says, shining a flashlight around and talking about fiddling with some panels to re-route all command functions. May-Backside makes a dumb aside about room for a captain's chair. What is the deal with their obsession with Quantum's chair? Trip comments how scary "that storm" must've been for May-Back-To-Basics. "We only got worried when the generators went down. We lost the grav plating, life support -- I'll never forget that look in my father's eyes. He knew we were in trouble," May-Backhand muses. "Why don't YOU have that look in your eyes, Bermaga?" Mathra demands, taking Plot Device's Feather Boa Of A Natural Phenomenon That Can Travel Faster Than Light out of his pint of Wexford's. Trip looks worried.
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.