He’s dead already!
Get your hands off of him, Spock! He’s finished. He’s dead.
Well, by all means. Will one runabout be enough?
Temba, with his arms wide.
I need a big-brained engineer who can help me extrude some plasma… and run some tests.
“It will be glorious!”
“It will be war!”
“No!”
It would be unprofessional. Besides, performing is my life; it’s what I do; I got to get out there and swing, otherwise I’m just another clyde in a tux.
You’ll be wearing concrete galoshes.
I think of this project as very important. It is you I take lightly.
Thank the good ol’ Prime Directive.
You’re onboard the Enterprise, captain. 1701-D. You have traveled 27 years into the future.
Oh. Well, what are you guys around here, anyway? FBI? Some kind of government agents, huh? Very groovy…
I have never questioned the orders or the intelligence of any representative of the Federation. Until now.
I don’t get out often.
It’s as if I were to say to you, “Juliet, on her balcony.”
“You’re familiar with this life form?”
“Yes. My people encountered them a century ago. They destroyed our cities, scattered my people across the galaxy. They’re called the Borg. Protect yourself, captain, or they’ll destroy you.”
[flamboyantly]
Oh, how absolutely typical of your species: you don’t understand something, so you become fearful. Now, do let me anticipate your next question…
[/flamboyantly]
You can read our transponder codes.
Your vessel, your beginning. All that you knew is gone.
I’ve never known you to quote from the Bible.