Not exactly a highlight on your record. What happened? Did someone call you a toaster?

Don’t worry, Commander. They’ll behave like little lambs… unless they decide to take after you and tear up the bar.

Hey, easy. Is this coming from someone who flunked Exogeography?

Don’t worry, we’ll get through this. We’ll whip the cadets into shape, and we’ll sort out the food too.
(she points at his plate) Now, I’ve got work to do. Bon appétit.

One thing at a time. Right now I’m busy stopping a couple of cadets from blasting each other out of an airlock.

We’re near the Badlands. Did you really expect the food out here to taste /good/?

(crooked grin)

(raises an eyebrow)

How would I know? I’m an engineer, not the cook.

Easy. I’m here. What’s going on?

Damn, Rayner… I didn’t know...

(She stops in her tracks.)

That's correct. But we paid a high price.

(She holds his gaze for a moment before turning to leave.)

We’ve been through a lot already. The Klingons, Control… we’ll get through this too.

Well, someone’s gotta keep the escape route warm.

You think the Federation is walking right into a trap.

(She shrugs innocently)

I thought the clinking of my tools would announce me, like Santa Claus.
You were lost in thought, I’d say.

You don’t like those tinheads? Neither do I.

That stuff (gestures at his glass) won’t drown your sorrows.
Way too dry.

Am I wrong, or are you dodging the doc, huh?

(Lifts an eyebrow)

Look, I’ve tripped over my own ego more than once. It happens.

Honestly, I'm just glad you didn’t go full flamethrower.
Call Culber. We’re gonna need knockout gas or whatever.

I’ll try not to make a face when I toast with the Admiral.

Tribbles in the walls? No wonder life support’s wheezing like it’s got asthma.

What do you suggest?

(She steps up next to him, washing down the last bite of hors d’oeuvres with a hefty swig of champagne.)

Ugh. That’s vinegar in a tux.

Fantastic. The cargo bay's hosting a Tribble orgy. Unless we fix this. Fast.

And I’m just trying to enjoy my secret stash of Snickers.
Next thing you know, we’re knee-deep in a fluffy tribble invasion.
Which bright spark thought smuggling that furball onboard was a good idea?

Oh, what fun! I'm an engineer, not a vet.

Alright, which AC's crapped out now?

(Nods quietly, saying nothing)

Sounds like some old ghosts are knocking.

A dead Breen in our sickbay...
Yeah, I'm guessing Command's gonna have a few questions.