Fat Tuesday's. Trip and Reed sit at a table with their fruity girly-man drinks. Reed slurs, "That place up the street looked pretty lively." "Well, the Vulcan database said no one leaves this club unhappy," Trip tells him. Reed wants to know how the Vulcans would know from happy, pointing out, "They only mate once every seven years." "That's what they say," Trip leers. Reed wants to know if Trip knows something he doesn't. If this degenerates into another T'Pol's Bum discussion, I'm leaving. "Come on, seven years? I doubt even T'Pol could hold out that long," Trip intimates. It's called "self-control" -- look it up, Horny McLecherson. I'm sure T'Pol perfected being The Master Of Her Domain before you were a glint in the milkman's eye. Reed concedes that T'Pol is "very disciplined" as Trip spots a pair of alien lovelies making their way toward them. What is it with Reed being such a sloppy drunk that he can't hold his sauce? Trip mutters, "Malcolm, bearing one-eight-zero." Reed doesn't catch on. "Behind you," Trip explains patiently. Reed cranes around and catches sight of the chicks. "Anything in that database that could help us get a conversation going?" Reed asks. Trip tells him that if he were there on the Cultural Exchange Program, he should've stuck to Hoshi. Suddenly, the two chicks and their heaving breasts are very much in front of them. Reed and Trip grope to their feet as the girls introduce themselves. Reed and Trip ask them to join them in a drink. "We've been waiting for you to ask," they purr, and sit down. Trip asks what their poison is, and one of them says, "These look good," while she suggestively mauls Reed's fruit. From his drink. They both have those white dots on their foreheads to denote their Risan lineage, and getting a closer look at the Risan dots, they look like they have a black crab drawn on them. The Risan chicks ask where the good ol' boys are from, and Reed tells them they're from Earth. They've never heard of it. Trip says, "We're sort of new to the neighborhood." The Risan chicks say they'll have to ensure that their first trip to Risa is "memorable." Trip and Reed drool copiously. Fasten your seatbelts, boys -- it's going to be a bumpy night.
Quantum's Fortress of Solitude. Quantum plays with a telescope and Rear Windows into the villa next door. I wish. He's actually looking at the stars. Does he have ANY other interests? Kayla calls up and wants to know if Quantum's busy with anything other than being the antidote to insomnia. She asks him to show her what he's looking at, and Quantum invites her up. To see his stars. Quantum adjusts his telescope (and I'm not speaking euphemistically), and they do some stargazing, Quantum shows her where Earth is, and I fall asleep in my bottle. When I wake up, I notice that Kayla's sporting a serious Kirk's Alien Lay Of The Week 'Do. What with the sixties hair, Trip and Reed's Miami Vice suits, and the bad pick-up lines all around, I'm beginning to think this is Retro Night and someone forgot to warn me to put on my rubber bracelets and lace gloves. Kayla comments that Quantum "is a long way from home," and Quantum admits that it's the farthest any of his "people" have ever gone. Nobel Laureate that she is, Kayla deduces that Quantum's an explorer. "I wouldn't be surprised if they're naming schools after you on your world," she says. "Kindercare, maybe!" Mathra snorts. Quantum preens at this and finally asks if Kayla can show him where she's from. Kayla tells him she has a really bad sense of direction -- she even got lost in the lobby coming back to the villa this afternoon. Quantum jokes, "Well, I can see how that would happen. I mean, it's at least a hundred meters from here." "And all the villas look the same," Kayla jokes back. "You just gotta notice the subtle differences," Quantum says. "Like the numbers on the doors!" Kayla deduces. "Now you're catching on," Quantum smiles. "Give me a couple of hours, I could have you navigating a starship." And therefore give May-whiz even less to do. Kayla asks Quantum to tell her about all the places he's been, promising, "We'll get to the starship navigation later." Aw, that ain't nothin' but drugstore lovin'.