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- Ensign, I gave you an order. - Yes, sir.
Something that can't possibly exist.
an odour of any kind?
Intuition, however illogical, Mr. Spock,
You're on red alert. Make a sweep.
Leaving the planet surface, heading into space.
Oh, ensign. Meet me in my quarters when you've cleaned up.
Captain's log, stardate 3619.2.
Perhaps I should rephrase my statement.
0.04 light years ahead.
Dead.
No, sir, I was furthest away from it.
Do you smell something?
Acknowledged, captain.
Obviously, captain,
- we expect to rendezvous with them. - Thank you.
I could feel the intelligence of the thing.
No man achieves Starfleet Command without relying on intuition,
Those vaccines he's transferring to us are highly perishable.
Well, what's with the captain? I've never seen him like that before.
Whether that indicates intelligence is another matter.
- Rizzo. - Yes, sir.
Mr. Scott was doing an AID cleanup on it.
nearly half the crew and the captain were annihilated.
I'm not, Jim!
If a man is beaming up when that hits, we may lose him.
What distance were you from the creature?
They need those vaccines on Theta Vll, captain.
No, with all these deaths and injuries,
Correctly phrased, captain, as recommended in the manual.
It's almost like something out there knows I'm scanning it.
You'll find the USS Farragut lists casualties 11 years ago
Dikironium reading now, sir.
One man was killed, another may die.
- Bones. - One man has a chance for survival,
- Logic would dictate... - No, I'm playing intuition.
It was years ago on another planet.
Scotty, reverse cabin pressure, 341.
- Locked on target. - Fire phasers, Mr. Chekov.
Go to warp 6.
I'm sorry, Jim. I was wrong.