Acquisition

See Also: 'Acquisition' Episode Guide

Archer: Hi, I’m Jon Archer. The author of this bizarre series of parodies, currently using me as a mouthpiece, would like to apologize sincerely for making you wait... how long was it?
Mayweather: Seven weeks, sir.
Archer: Aye caramba on a stick! Anyway, to explain our plan for the seven missed episodes, here’s a frothing-mad ape.
General Thade: KILL THEM ALL!
Archer: Thank you, General. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the author plans to kill his backlog all at once, so you’ll be seeing at least one new fiver per day until they’re all done. And to capitalize on the male 19-35 demographic, there’ll be plenty of Hoshi Sato.
Mayweather: Um, Captain, about Hoshi... remember how she left last week to find work in another franchise?
Archer: What, you mean she hasn’t come back yet?
Mayweather: Last we heard, she was trying for a cameo in Attack of the Clones.
Archer: Shoot. Guess all you young bucks will have to be content with explosions instead.
Mayweather: And then there are our FX budget cuts....
Archer: Be quiet, Travis.

Grish: Good news, fellow stooges: we’ve located Enterprise.
Ulis: Yarrrrr, mateys... thar be our prey. Plunder ahoy!
Muk: Ahem.
Ulis: What? I’m just trying to do a little metaphor. You know... pirates, Ferengi....
Muk: You’re pathetic.

Reed: Hey look, a cute cloud of gas.
Archer: “Cute”?
Reed: Yeah -- it’s a real knockout! HA HA HA HA HA! Ow.
T’Pol: You could have just waited for the gas to get him, sir.
Archer: Time was of the essence.

Muk: Looks like the gas worked. Now what?
Ulis: We’ll just come aboard, steal what we can, and shanshu in plrtz glrb.
Muk: Huh?
Ulis: V’z whfg fcrnxvat Sreratv.
Grish: Oh great, he’s speaking Ferengi. Now the rest of us will have to.
Krem: Guvf unf “cybg qrivpr” jevggra nyy bire vg.
Grish: You said it, man.

Tucker: Hello? I’ve been in decon for 96 hours now. Why hasn’t anyone let me out?
Computer: Because nobody likes you.
Tucker: I’m tired of your putdowns. Get this door open.
Computer: I’m afraid I can’t do that, Charles.
Tucker: Shoot. Good thing I have the Hammer of Crushing in my pocket here....

Tucker: Yikes! They’re stealing our stuff and rounding up the babes! I’d better eavesdrop.
Grish: Jr’er bar srznyr fubeg. Jurer’f Fngb?
Muk: Trg onpx gb jbex, lbh ohz.
Tucker: Hmm... there seems to be a translation problem here. Tucker to Hoshi: good news. You’re actually needed for once.
Sato: (over the comm) Can this wait? It’s a really really bad time.
Tucker: Bad time? What are you--
Baron Harkonnen: (over the comm) There! That’s the woman who was translating for House Atreides! Sardaukar: DESTROY!
Sato: Look, Trip, can I call you back?

Muk: Vs lbh pna ernq guvf, lbh unir gbb zhpu fcner gvzr... oh, screw it! I’m switching back before we all drown in illegibility.
Grish: You know, the boss isn’t gonna like FOR GOD’S SAKE PUT THAT BOOT BACK ON! Nobody needs to see that! Curse my Ferengi eyes....

Archer: Yawwwwn... that was a nice nap. Lots of dreams about Orion slave girls in stylish but conservative business suits. Hey, who are you?
Ulis: Your captor. I was planning to grill you for information, but you’ve already provided more than anyone ever needed to know.
Archer: Gimme a break about that, okay? I’d only been awake for three seconds.
Ulis: Fine, we’ll try the grilling. Where’s your vault?
Archer: You mean the one where I keep my cache of Andorian sewing magazines?
Ulis: This interrogation is over.

Krem: Hi, I’m Krem. Please convert me.
Archer: To molten slag?
Krem: Yes. Wait, no. I mean convert me to your cause, thus helping me elevate myself above my status as a loser.
Archer: Buddy, I couldn’t elevate you above that if I had platform shoes and a jetpack.

Tucker: Hi Jon. How’re you doing?
Archer: Obviously better than you. I knew you had gambling debts, but I didn’t think they were this bad.
Tucker: No no, I didn’t sell my clothes.
Archer: You just gave them away? That’s pretty shortsighted, Trip.
Tucker: You know, I came here so we could come up with a plan, but now I think I’ll just make the plan myself and tell you what it is.
Archer: It’s probably safer not even to tell me.

Tucker: Pssst. T’Pol, wake up.
T’Pol: Yawwwwn... that was a nice nap. Lots of dreams about dashing Orion men taking logic classes.
Tucker: I’m not touching that. Just feign unconsciousness when Archer comes in, okay?
T’Pol: No problem -- that’s a conversation-avoidance strategy I’ve often considered.

Krem: ....and this is the room where we’re keeping all your female crewmembers.
Archer: That one’s a man.
Krem: Yeah. We couldn’t find your translator, so we made a substitution.
Archer: I really don’t think Malcolm is going to appreciate that.
Krem: He will after the operation.

Tucker: Now to pick some random crewman and strip him.
Computer: I knew it! I knew it!
Tucker: Sorry, it’s just to get a uniform. And when this is all over, I’m gonna have a little talk with whoever installed your slash subroutine.

Sato: ....and I think my record with extra-terrestrials speaks for itself.
John Doggett: I’m not gonna say it again, lady -- we aren’t hiring. The show is over.
Sato: But there’s a movie coming! Can’t I be the valiant FBI translator who paves the way to communication with aliens?
Doggett: You’ve got a wire crossed there. We don’t talk to aliens, we kill them.
Sato: I can do that too! Won’t you at least think about it?
Monica Reyes: John, we don’t have time for this. We have to hunt down the faceless black-oil alien super-soldier virus hybrid slave race.
Doggett: Sorry, ma’am. Duty calls.

Grish: Well, here we are in Sickbay. Anybody sick?
Muk: I’m sick of you. Does that count?
Grish: Aw, your mother wears army boots.
Muk: Yeah? Yours wears even more clothes!
Ulis: Stop, you fools! If we start fighting among ourselves, we’re playing right into their hands!
Grish: Yeah... yeah, I guess you’re right.
Ulis: Besides, both your mothers wear clothes.
Grish and Muk: You’re going down!

Computer: Welcome to the bridge. Please enjoy a complimentary orange pekoe.
T’Pol: Thanks. Think you could emit some sort of ear-piercing noise below decks to anger the intruders?
Computer: No problem. I’m queueing a Mandy Moore single as we speak.
T’Pol: That’ll bug Trip too. Bonus. So how are you two getting along lately?
Computer: He threatened to delete my slash subroutine!
T’Pol: Don’t worry about that. He’ll never get past all the security blocks I set up.

Archer: Let’s make a deal, Krem.
Krem: That’s “Krem, FCA,” thank you.
Archer: Whatever. How ’bout this: you help me beat your comrades, and I give you lots of nothing.
Krem: A generous offer, but --
Archer: And if you act now, I’ll triple the amount of nothing you get.
Krem: SOLD!

Muk: I think this guy’s sentient. Let’s hear what he has to say.
Porthos: Ruff! Ruff RUFF ruff!
Grish: According to the translator, he’s claiming to be the Grand Nagus.
Ulis: Blasphemy! Put him to death!
Porthos: RUFF! Grrrrrr....
Grish: Now he’s threatening to cancel our credit lines.
Ulis: Perhaps I was too hasty. Put him in a box for now.
Porthos: Ruff!
Ulis: A box with air holes.
Porthos: Ruff!
Ulis: And a jacuzzi.

Tucker: The time has come to strike! Defend yourself, big-ears!
Muk: Hey, you’re a female?
Tucker: No... what makes you say that?
Muk: Well, you’re not wearing any clothes.
Tucker: I’m not? Shoot! I knew there was something I forgot to do after stripping that guy.
Muk: I doubt this conversation could get more disturbing, but just in case it does, we’d better zap you. Ulis?
Ulis: Yeah, yeah, hang on a sec. I’m having trouble with my whip.
Muk: That’s not your whip. While we were in sickbay, Grish and I traded it for a giant electric eel.
Ulis: Oh. How do I use it?
Muk: I think you have to cram one end up each of his nostrils or something.
Tucker: Looks like the conversation can get more disturbing after all.
Muk: Quiet, you.

Grish: Last time, you two. Where is the vault?
Tucker: You mean the one where I keep my cache of Japanese punk rock albums?
Archer: They mean the gold vault, Trip. You know, the one in the Jeffries tubes through the left-hand door at junction C12 and zip code 42831.
Tucker: You traitor! You just gave them the location!
Archer: You’re the traitor! They wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t pointed it out!
Tucker: That does it! Throw down, punk!
Ulis: All right, break up the staged fight. We’ll go find the vault now. Krem, stay with Archer and guard him or something.
Archer: "Or something"?
Ulis: I like to give my men a little latitude.

Tucker: Okay, left at this intersection....
Muk: Again? This is our eightieth consecutive left turn!
Ulis: Oh, Muk, don’t be so paranoid. He knows what he’s doing.

Krem: I’ve made my choice. I’ll help Archer betray the others and -- hey, what are you doing awake?
T’Pol: Offering you some oo-mox. Come closer.
Krem: How do I know you won’t nerve-pinch me?
T’Pol: Oh, I won’t. I’ll be too busy biting your neck and drinking your blood.
Krem: I’m going to have to slay you, aren’t I?

Sato: For the last time, no! If I were a vampire, wouldn’t I have eaten you by now?
Xander: Don’t be so sure, sister. I bet I could give you a mighty fine butt-whuppin’.
Sato: Oh, please.
Xander: Seriously! I’ve staked enough vamps to fill a whole box of ashtrays. In fact -- when they see me, they flee in terror.
Spike: That’s ’cause they can see who you’re hiding behind.
Xander: Okay, you know what, Spike? Shut the --
Spike: Don’t mind him, missy. Blighter doesn’t know a good deal when he sees it. Now what sort of work might you be looking for with us?
Sato: Oh, anything with a decent starting salary would be fine....
Spike: Um... salary. We don’t make heaps of money in this line of work.
Xander: We’re the original non-profit slaying squad.
Sato: What? I’m so out of here.
Spike: Well, bugger all.

Tucker: Here it is: the vault. Well, not so much that as a random door I stuck a lock on.
Ulis: Just so long as there’s gold behind it.
Tucker: Yep, lots of gold. But I should warn you that we keep it invisible to guard it from theft.
Ulis: Then we’ll have to go inside and feel around for it. Come along, you two.
Tucker: Sigh... this would be more fun if they’d at least try.

T’Pol: I heard what you said about me to that alien.
Archer: All of it?
T’Pol: From “antisocial” to “zygomorphic.”
Archer: Shoot. How can I make it up to you?
T’Pol: Oh, don’t worry. All I ask is that you shave your head, put on this dress, and lend me some money to start a few logic schools on Orion.

Captain’s Starlog: Our first takeover has been a success. The only casualties were my hair, Trip’s dignity, and Malcolm’s gender. Speaking of which, I should ask Phlox if our medical insurance covers the operation Ms. Reed is asking for.

Archer: Well, Krem, I’m leaving you in charge. Best of luck.
Krem: Thanks, though I can’t say your outfit fills me with confidence.
Archer: But my baldness does, right?
Krem: Um....
Tucker: Hey Krem, I just realized we forgot to ask you something. What’s the name of your species?
Krem: Oh, it’s --
Tucker: It doesn’t matter what your name is!
Archer: Heheheh. Trip gets ’em every time with that one.

T’Pol: Glad that’s all over. And best of all, no loose ends.
Archer: Does anyone else hear a muffled barking noise?
T’Pol: I’m sure it’s just in your head.
(Enterprise heads off at Ludicrous Speed)

THE END

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