10x03 - Archer: 1999

[bunniefuu]

Whoo! Rocket pack!

You know how much fuel
you just wasted?

I don't know.

How much paint did
Michelangelo "waste"

on the Sistine Chapel?

Yeah, but when Mikey
ran out of paint,

he didn't die in space.

Well, let's just cross
that bridge

when we never ever cross
it because it doesn't exist.

Would you just trace the...

Shut up, Lana.

I'm trying to trace the signal

and it's right... there!

Nanotube-reinforced
reactor grid.

Man if we can re-tune that,

it'll sell for 18 months
of operating costs.

And, more importantly,
a sizable bonus for us.

First off, no.

We badly need a restock of
Gran Classico.

Second...

And third, Cyril's picked
up a... what was it?

I've got a class D ship on
a hyperbolic intercept orbit!

- Yes, that.
- It's right there!

For the thousandth time,
we can't see you pointing!

And why wasn't that
the first thing?

Because I said two
other things first?

All right.
We've trained for this.

Cyril, on g*ns.
We need cover.

On it.

Krieger,
spool up hyperspace drive.

- Spooling!
- Cheryl, get to your fighter.

Lame!

- Ray, you're still useless.
- You know...

Pam, swoop in with
the gig, lasso the grid,

and tow it to the ship.

Pam? Pam!

Paaam!

What? I'm right
fricking here!

I don't know. Maybe we got
att*cked by scavengers,

barely got out with the
power core, and... oh, right!

I ran out of fuel
and almost d*ed!

Something about a bridge...

Who am I, Santiago Calatrava?

- The shortstop?
- No.

That's what I'm
gonna call my foot

when it's gracefully
yet powerfully suspended

up your ass!

Look, I feel terrible, guys.

No more mistakes!

I'll be the perfect
crew member from now on.

Which is why you skipped
the debriefing?

I said from now on.

And came directly
to the mess hall!

I eat my feelings?

- Amongst everything.
- Don't be a d*ck.

Why would he possibly stop now?

It's kind of
a big part of my draw.

Look, I just came down here
to get a leftover sandwich

from that time we were on
Toba Station.

Dibs! Dibs, dibs, dibs,
dibs, dibs!

Where are you, you beautiful...

What... the hell... was that?

That would be my sandwich.

What do we know about it?

Well, apparently
it's allergic to compliments.

And ate all our food.

The food?
But that's what we eat!

Where did it come from?

Well, originally it was
a sandwich from Toba Station?

See, you eat it while
it's alive and struggling,

but it was definitely
dead when I finished.

It must've regenerated.

Be that as it may!

We need a plan before
this gets out of hand.

It laid eggs!
Weird gross eggs!

Cool! Lemme see!

Uh, how many?

I don't know!
They're everywhere!

So we've got an alien on
board that's multiplying,

no food, and scavengers might
still be tracking us.

Anyone have an idea

that doesn't involve us
dying in space?

I vote dying.

Archer, Lana,
you go find this thing.

Gillette, Cheryl,

gather all the scraps of food
that are left

to see if we can make
the next spaceport.

Krieger, study the eggs.
Try to find a weakness.

Cyril, Ms. Archer, keep
scanning for those scavengers.

Now if you'll excuse me,

I have to stride somewhere
with purpose!

Wow.

Now, I wanna say that's dumb,

because, well, Pam.

- Yeah, but that's...
- Actually...

A good idea.

So, if I were
to hypothetically suss out

the m*llitary applications of...

Okay, yes, I see by
your faces yes.

Got it! Won't do that!

We're going to have
such adventures together.

Yeah, that won't come
back to haunt us.

I'll keep an eye on him,

and just k*ll that thing,
Sterling,

before Krieger uses it
to mutate us all into,

let's say, space goo.

I vote space goo.

- So are you gonna...
- Shh!

Shut.
Shut your mouth.

I will not let you
ruin this for me

like you have
so many other times.

I. Am. Ready.

- Ya done?
- What?

I don't know how to do
the volume on this thing.

- I said, "ya done?"
- Oh, got it.

I think so.

There's nothing left,
and also I can barely move.

And that's gonna help you
catch this thing how?

All of this, Lana,
is totally necessary!

Actually, let's see where it is.

I only have another seven,
eight steps in me.

Huh. This says it's within
two meters.

Which would only
make sense if...

Oh, screw you,
two-dimensional display.

Hey, hey, Lana!
It's friendly!

Also laying gross eggs.
Pretty much constantly.

And the cloaca blooms.

And what does that mean,

other than that you now
have a sideline

in Georgia O'Keefe sculptures?

The eggs contain
self-healing DNA.

If I can isolate it,

I might unlock the secret
of regeneration.

And they called me mad.

- Who did?
- Huh?

Oh, I guess I just assumed.

Safe bet.

So, do you want the bad news?

- Or the what?
- Uh, there is no other news.

Then why did you ask?

Rhetorical effect?

Well, it stopped us
in our tracks, Cicero,

so mark it as ineffective.

Look, we don't have
enough food to make it

to the nearest spaceport.

Even if we carefully rationed
out the scraps here,

we still wouldn't have...

He's incorrigible.

- Damn it, Archer!
- What?

He said there wasn't enough
food to make it to spaceport.

Nothing's changed!
So I accept your apology.

Ooh!
It's starting.

We'll tear ourselves apart
with suspicion and doubt

and then eat each other!
I call first dibs!

- To eat or be eaten?
- Whatever. I'm not picky.

Better sharpen those chompers.

I am so confused by your tone.

Me too.

It may not come to that.

Using the egg,
I may have found a way

to regenerate our cells
as we starve.

It won't be pleasant...

- But?
- No, I was done.

Let me guess.

There's a chance
it'll turn us into space goo?

No! Well, yes.
Actually, it's pretty likely.

How'd you know that?

Because it's always
space goo with you.

Well, not just that.

We should eat the eggs.

Oh, these hook-covered,
evil-smelling, pus sacks

that just happen to be the
property of my new best friend?

But they make you feel amazing!

But you didn't even know
we were out of food.

So when did you
start eating those?

Pretty much immediately.

Start this off
on the wrong foot,

but I'm thinking of
eating your feet.

When I said we had
to consider our options,

this is not what I meant.
Well, I didn't hear

anyone else suggesting anything!

Because you told me to shut up!

And here you are talking.

I meant something that leaves us

with the right number of feet!

Lana, it's offensive to call
it "the right number of feet"

when those lacking limbs are
valuable members of society.

Hey, yeah!

It's also why you should
let me eat your feet.

This seems productive.

Shouldn't you be scanning?

- I think Cyril's on that.
- Not on that.

And clean yourselves up.

You go a few days without food,

and suddenly you look
like a pack of Okies

matted with wet dirt.

Uh, it's called mud,

and why is it that you
don't care about starving?

Oh, I've trained myself
to live on a liquid diet.

I guess that's
the upside of having blood

that's basically formaldehyde.

So you're essentially
pre-embalmed.

Okay, look, We're all hungry.

Let's just calm down
and stop insulting Mother

until I think of
a really good one.

I'll mark my calendar.

Aww, look.
It's dreaming.

Shouldn't we try
eating these eggs?

I mean, before we drown in them?

Not yet! Krieger says
they're loaded with all sorts

of crazy chemicals
and God knows what.

Pam seems okay.

Does she?

Pow-pow-pow-pow-pah!

Anyhoo, just hang tight.

Krieger might have
something soon

and for God's sake,
show some restraint.

I must be pretty hungry.
Now I'm hearing things.

- Uh, that's not imaginary.
- Good.

'Cause I was about
to kick my imagination's ass

for having terrible taste.
What is that?

It sounds like a piano
double-crossed the Yakuza.

♪ Struck oil from the start ♪

♪ But the real land
you stole was in my... ♪

Please don't say "heart."

Start-heart is the lyrical
equivalent of light-beige.

What is all this here then?

Hey, remember when
you said I was useless?

Honestly, no,
but it does sound like me.

"All this here then"

is me finally finding
my true purpose in life.

Didn't you come out,
like, years ago?

Yeah, there's more to me

than my sexuality.
Eh.

For example, my love
of musical theater.

And that's distinct from...

I'm writing what
I always dreamed of:

A rock musical about
the Teapot Dome Scandal.

That is the worst idea...

Let me finish!

With some hip-hop elements.

I stand corrected.

Please tell me it's not
called "Off the Dome."

Why?
Do you not like that?

Well, I'm proud of you
for pursuing your dream.

Thank you very much.

But you sure seem to have
a lot of energy

for a starving person!

Come on, where's your stash?

Be more specific!

This room is basically
nothing but contraband!

- Your food stash!
- I don't have any!

I'm just filled with
a glowing sense of purpose.

Now if you'll leave me
to my art,

I have to find a rhyme with
Mineral Leasing Act!

The Crédit Mobilier scandal
would be much more compelling!

- You take that back!
- Oh, come on!

Union Pacific Railroad.

One of the central guys
was named George Train.

That writes itself!

Nothing writes itself!

Don't listen to them.

Nothing but great calls,
baby Ray!

God, these eggs are dynamite.

Neurological dynamite, that is.

Loaded with neurotransmitters.
So what do they do?

The human brain
is fiendishly complex.

It's all neurons and
electricity and mooshy parts.

- So you don't know?
- We'd have to scan someone

while they ate one
for the first time.

But that could cause anything!

Define "anything."

Hmm, insanity,
memory loss, death,

or a sexual syndrome
called Brainaphilia

that I just now invented.

So testing on a live subject
would be totally unethical.

Let's use Cheryl.

Wait, were we considering
anything else?

So, hitting the sauce
pretty hard?

It's not sauce!

I didn't think it
was literally...

It's marinade!

And that's how
that conversation ended.

Hey, the map thingy says
that we're flying toward

the Fang Nebula.
So it does.

Well, aren't there like
six overlapping wars

going on there right now?

Why do people rob banks, Cheryl?

If I'm remembering this right,

it's because the action
is the juice?

Because that's where
the money is,

and if we're looking
for salvage,

you fly into the teeth of chaos

and howl at the shadow
of death itself!

So say we all.

Greetings, Rat Racers.

How does it feel to follow
orders like robots,

pawns in your own lives?

Cyril?
What are you doing?

Other than mixing metaphors

into some kind of
smoothie-like paste.

As little as possible, muchacha.

Why aren't you scanning?

Oh, my gosh, you're right.
Hold on.

Yep, all clear.

We're in deep space.
Nothing's ever on the scanner.

It's all a scam to keep you busy

while they rob you
of your freedom.

Freedom to what, become
a human Jimmy Buffet B-side?

You mean awesome and underrated?

No. Stop twisting my words!
Lana, he's twisting my words!

Can we just get to the point?
Cyril, did you find food?

You bet I did.

I came here to do two things:
Eat eggs and nothing

and I'm not out of either.

Now get out.

What is going on?

I know.
Why am I in the hallway?

No. That's not what I was...

Wait, did I just
do what he said?

Oh, no. He's the alpha!

He cares less than I do!

I... I don't wanna live in
a world where Cyril's cool!

So, you're not worried
that our crew

seems to be going insane
and/or starving?

Listen to me, I'm talking
about something important.

My intrinsic dominance
over other males.

You think he'd let me groom him?

It's something about those eggs.

This might be the
starvation talking

or the fact that I don't like
the looks of your feet,

but maybe we should
just eat the eggs?

Everyone's acting weird,

but I guess they're
not dead, right?

Yeah, so what's the worst
that could happen?

Dot, dot, dot.

How did this happen?
I hate you!

Yeah, and I don't usually
have a thing

for older divorced ladies.

- Hey!
- I'm kidding.

I totally have a thing
for older divorced ladies.

Not all the time.

It's like a...
What's the drink called?

Like a drink you drink
between other drinks.

Like aperitif, but not.

God, Cyril's gonna be pissed.

Not digestif, that's after...

wait, you're sleeping
with Cyril?

- And why would you care?
- I don't know!

I guess deep down,
I still care what you do.

That's very slightly touching.

I mean, you're my ex-wife, Lana.

What you do reflects back on me.

Oh, this from the guy that
just called me an intermezzo!

That's it! Intermezzo!

That was really bothering me.

This is a nightmare.

Talking to you is like talking
to a very selfish rock

with mother issues!

Rocks don't have moms!

Unless you count volcanoes.

But speaking of things
that are hard as a rock...

Great segue.
That was pretty amazing, right?

Unfortunately, yes.

Round two?

Does it bother you
that it's watching us?

Why?

How long do you need?

After that sexual Iditarod?

Two minutes, 15 seconds.
Should we maybe discuss

what's going on with the ship

and, uh, how we should maybe
do something about it?

Now you've pushed it back
to three with all that talk,

so might as well.

I just want to look at it!

Oh, my God, what's that?

Huh. I... I guess
it was nothing.

Oh, put a sock in it, Benedict.

You've fallen for that,
like, four times.

At some point, it is your fault.

You're calling it... no.
I will not engage with that.

Are you sure? I've got a
whole series of quips about it.

We're under the influence
of something, right?

I think we've just finally
discovered our true feelings.

All the games can stop now.

We're gonna be together forever.

Yeah, yeah, we're egg crazy.

Which explains why
we're setting sex records

in both frequency and duration
and probably distance,

if they measured sex in that.
So, let's go talk to Krieger,

figure out a solution
to our starvation problem

and then get rid of these eggs.

Or we could just have sex again?

Yup, probably that.

Krieger, I command that
you scan me!

I already am!

Because I command it!
All is well.

Huh, same as Gillette and Cyril.

Tough to see brain changes

with all the background egg
in your blood.

This scanner sees
through clothes.

Why are we in our underwear?
Why indeed?

I did it because Pam told me to!

- Hey, me too!
- Patton couldn't lift

these nuts. Hooah!

My current hypothesis
is that these neurotransmitters

free you from mental blocks

and let you pursue
your deepest wishes.

Leadership!

Doing nothing!

"Off the Dome!"

And we're married to that title?

Do you just live
in doorways now?

Found this one nibbling
on a power cord.

What are you, part Mynock?

No! I was just trying
to tenderize myself!

Now who's stupid?

Can't believe we were
so wrong about you.

Cheryl, can you step in here

and put this in your mouth?
Ha, not gonna

fall for that again.

Damn it!

- How do you feel?
- I don't feel any different.

I mean, hmm, I kinda
want to blow up the ship,

but I always want to do that.

There goes your theory.

No, I think this actually
confirms it!

Because she has
no impulse control,

the eggs don't affect her!

That's totally unfair!

Uh-oh.

It seems these eggs
are also highly addictive.

- No, they're not!
- That's ridiculous!

Krieger, I think
it's time we took a walk.

Ooh, I love secret plans!

Oh, God.

I just ejaculated dust,

and I'm pretty sure it was
my own pulverized skeleton.

One more go?

So, hey guys.

Ugh. I would act startled

but it would probably k*ll me.

Turns out those eggs
are highly addictive

and make you act out
your deepest desires.

Yeah, that's kind of
where we came out on it.

So if you'll excuse us.

Please, don't mind me.

Do we mind?

I mean, I could go either way.

Yes, we mind!

And I mind that
this ship is doomed

if no one does their jobs!

Oh, come on. It's...

Probably fine.
But if this keeps up,

we're probably
gonna die of chafing.

Pam also locked the ship
onto a course

for the Fang Nebula.

[rapping]
♪ I am Wyoming, I am home! ♪

♪ I am America,
I'm Teapot Dome! ♪

God, wow, that is
cask strength ear poison,

but I'm still on the fence.

Do you really want
to live the rest

of your short life in a world

where Cyril is cooler than you?

We'll sh**t the eggs into space.

But only if you modify Benedict
so he stops laying eggs.

He's my friend, and he's staying

and I just realized
he's probably a she.

There's no way for me
to know if I can even...

He'll do it or he goes
in the recycler.

But, wait.
What will we eat?

I cobbled together a formula
from stuff on hand

and the regenerative DNA.

It should provide
enough nutrients

to get us to spaceport.

Really? Space goo?

No! It's more of a slurry.

Yeah, it's a goo.

All right,
that's the last of them.

- Took you long enough.
- Not engaging. Not engaging.

Engage, MF-ers!

You'll touch that button
when I say so.

And guess what? I won't!

How did you find us?

Uh, I tapped into the
shipwide surveillance system.

Which, by the way,
pretty pissed about!

Look, we've got to get
rid of these eggs,

and everything will go back
to normal.

- No!
- Screw normal!

You think I like being
a courtesan on a salvage ship?

I have a post graduate degree!

- What's it called? A Ph. Dong?
- That's what they call it!

I just want to do nothing
and be happy

and not get yelled at!

And I'm good at being a captain!

I want to take some initiative
without this ding dong.

- Hey!
- Not you!

Doing his stupid plans!

So, what I'm hearing is,
you want Archer to be nicer

or alternatively,
we can die in space

as previously discussed.

I'm thinking.

Ow, fine!

Jesus, your knuckles
are like filberts!

Well, don't worry about
food, because...

Yeah.
Space goo.

Aww, my moment.

What did you use to make it?

Human waste and garbage?

Hmm, not just that.

Okay, I'm back on the egg side.

Seriously? What about...

Wow! Okay.

That is powerful!

Cork it, electro-nuts!

Whew.
Look, we're all happy.

Yes, maybe it's a shortcut,

but don't we deserve
that once in a while?

Isn't it nice
just to be together?

To not worry about the future?

Call it an intermezzo,
but maybe it's worth it?

Oh, that was beautiful.

But no, I will not gorge myself
on a highly addictive substance

while we drift into a w*r zone

while listening to
a shitty rock musical.

Because it's insane,
and we will die!

- Seize her!
- No, no, no, no...

Wait!
Hey, guys.

Remember when you were happy?

No!

- Why did you do that?
- It turns out the eggs

did unleash my deepest desire.

It's to make you all miserable.

Warning!
Unknown vessel approaching!

Cyril! What did we say
about the scanner,

you colossal turd!

Hey, you said
you'd be nicer to me!

- I never agreed to that!
- Yes, you did!

I obviously didn't mean it,
Lana!

Well, we're all gonna die.
Thanks, Lana!

How is this my fault?

I don't know,
but it feels good to say that!

Hey, guys, it's Captain Brett!

Yeah, I've been tracking
you guys for a while,

and I thought you guys
might need some supplies.

Wait, wait, wait, wait.
How do we know it's Brett?

Ooh, hold on guys.

I'm getting something weird
on my scanner here.

Yeah, what are those?

Oh, no. No, no!

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Nooo!

Yep, uh, that was Brett.

Made in Georgia.