RED DWARF Series IV episode 6, "Meltdown"
1 Int. Sleeping Quarters.
CAT, LISTER and RIMMER are sitting round a table in the sleeping
quarters. CAT and LISTER are playing a card game and RIMMER is regaling
them with tales of his youth. As the scene opens we see that CAT and
LISTER seem to be in some kind of pain.
RIMMER: So there we were at 2:30 in the morning; I was beginning to wish
I had never come to cadet training school. To the south lay water --
there was no way we could cross that. To the east and west two armies
squeezed us in a pincer. The only way was north; I had to go for it
and pray the Gods were smiling on me. I picked up the dice and threw
two sixes. Caldecott couldn't believe it. My go again; another two
sixes!
LISTER: Rimmer, what's wrong with you? Don't you realize that no one is
even slightly interested in anything you're saying? You've got this
major psychological defect which blinds you to the fact that you're
boring people to death! How come you can't sense that?
RIMMER: Anyway I picked up the dice again... Unbelievable! Another two
sixes!
LISTER: Rimmer!
RIMMER: What?
LISTER: No one wants to know some stupid story about how you beat your
Cadet School Training Officer at Risk.
RIMMER: Then -- disaster! I threw a two and a three; Caldecott picked up
the dice and threw snake eyes -- I was still in it.
LISTER: Cat, can you talk to him?.
CAT is sitting with big pieces of cotton wool plugged in to his ears. As
LISTER talks to him he takes one of the pieces.
CAT: What?
RIMMER: Anyway, to cut a long story short I threw a five and a four which
beat his three and a two, another double six followed by a double four
and a double five. After he'd thrown a three and a two I threw a six
and a three.
CAT: Man, this guy could bore for his country!
LISTER: What I want to know, is how the smeg can you remember what dice
you threw at a game you played when you were seventeen?
RIMMER: I jotted it down in my Risk campaign book. I always used to do
that so I could replay my moments of glory over a glass of brandy in
the sleeping quarters. I ask you, what better way is there to spend a
Saturday night?
CAT: Ya got me.
RIMMER: So a six and a three and he came back with a three and a two.
LISTER: Rimmer, can't you tell the story is not gripping me? I'm in a
state of non-grippedness, I am completely smegging ungripped. Shut the
smeg up.
RIMMER: Don't you want to hear the Risk story?
LISTER: That's what I've been saying for the last fifteen minutes.
RIMMER: But I thought that was because I hadn't got to the really
interesting bit...
LISTER: What really interesting bit?
RIMMER: Ah well, that was about two hours later, after he'd thrown a
three and a two and I'd thrown a four and a one. I picked up the
dice...
LISTER: Hang on Rimmer, hang on... the really interesting bit is exactly
the same as the dull bit.
RIMMER: You don't know what I did with the dice though, do you? For all
you know, I could have jammed them up his nostrils, head butted him on
the nose and they could have blasted out of his ears. That would've
been quite interesting.
LISTER: OK, Rimmer. What did you do with the dice?.
RIMMER: I threw a five and a two.
LISTER: And that's the really interesting bit?
RIMMER: Well it was interesting to me, it got me into Irkutsk.
Still the sleeping quarters but KRYTEN just appears out of nowhere.
Buzzzt -- the teleport paddle pops KRYTEN into the room.
KRYTEN: Hmmm, curious...
Buzzzt -- he pops into a different spot.
KRYTEN: Extraordinary!
Buzzzt.
KRYTEN: What a truly copacetic piece of machinery.
LISTER: What is it?
KRYTEN: Well, basically it appears to be a device that converts an
individual into digital information and then transmits him as light
beams to another point in space. Essentially it's a matter--
Buzzzt.
KRYTEN: --transporter. It's pretty neat.
Buzzzt.
KRYTEN: Ha!
CAT: Where'd you get it from?
KRYTEN: I think it must be a prototype. I found it in the Research Labs
down on Z deck. I managed to cobble together the missing circuitry and
it appears to be fully functional. Theoretically it can transport
several people at once. (To LISTER) Would you like to grip a paddle,
sir?
LISTER stands and grips a paddle.
KRYTEN: We'll meet you by the NaviComp in Starbug.
Buzzzt -- they both vanish.
RIMMER: (To CAT) Let's go.
RIMMER and CAT get up and head off out the door. We stay focused on the
room as a door in the background opens and we hear running water and see
steam billowing out the door a wet LISTER and KRYTEN come out of the
shower.
KRYTEN: I'm sorry about that, sir. I neglected to engage the depth
function.
LISTER: We'll walk, Kryten. We'll walk.
2 Int. Starbug.
The gang is sitting round chatting.
CAT: So, besides cutting down on shoe leather, what good is it?
HOLLY: Exploration: it can take you anywhere. It can home in on
atmosphere bearing planets within a radius of 500,000 light years. If
there are any lifeforms in the local systems this thing'll take you
straight to 'em.
RIMMER: So are there any planets with an atmosphere in range?
KRYTEN: Well, several according to the paddle's scanners, but the most
interesting prospect appears to be 200,000 light years away. In the
normal course of things it would take Starbug several billion years to
reach it.
LISTER: It wouldn't be so bad -- Rimmer could finish his Risk story.
KRYTEN: Traveling subspace via the paddle we would reach it almost
instantaneously.
LISTER: Well, what are we waiting for?
CAT: Ah ah ah! Nobody's rearranging _my_ molecules.
KRYTEN: It's perfectly safe, sir, but I do suggest that Mr Rimmer and I
go on ahead as a scout party.
RIMMER: What?
KRYTEN: Well, if the atmosphere isn't breatheable we won't be affected.
If it is, we can send the paddle back to pick you up.
RIMMER: The thing is, Kryters, I would love to be in the advanced scout
party facing all those thrilling unknown dangers with you, fighting a
frontierman's path through a jungle of discovery, but you're forgetting
one thing.
KRYTEN: No sir, I've taken your congenital cowardliness into
consideration.
RIMMER: I'm a hologram. I can't touch the thing. How could it transport
me?
HOLLY: Well, of course, you do have a small physical presence.
KRYTEN: Precisely. Holly, would you give me Mr Rimmer's light-bee,
please.
RIMMER: Wait a minute.
A view of RIMMER then he whites out and is gone. KRYTEN is holding the
light-bee.
RIMMER: (In a high pitched voice) Where am I?
LISTER: This is Rimmer?.
LISTER gets up, walks over to KRYTEN and takes the light-bee from him.
HOLLY: Yeah, it buzzes around inside him and projects his image.
LISTER tosses the light-bee up in the air and catches it in his mouth
then spits it out and catches it.
RIMMER: My God, that was disgusting!
KRYTEN: Please sir, that's a very sophisticated piece of hardware--
LISTER: Really? Anyone fancy a game of squash?
KRYTEN: Sir!
LISTER hands the light-bee back to KRYTEN.
KRYTEN: Thank you. Now, if all goes well the paddle will re-materialise
here. Simply press this green key and you'll be transported down to
the planet, a safe distance from us.
LISTER: OK.
Buzzzt -- they're gone.
3 Ext. A Typical Field.
There's plenty of green grass, trees in the background, etc. RIMMER
appears out of nowhere and staggers, then looks around.
RIMMER: What is this place?
KRYTEN: Well I can't pinpoint our location precisely but, ah, the
atmosphere is indeed breathable I'll return the paddle.
Buzzzt -- the paddle vanishes.
RIMMER: What now?
KRYTEN is looking off camera and up he looks a little worried.
KRYTEN: Well, I suggest we start to run, sir. I suggest we ambulate as
fast as the local gravity will allow.
RIMMER: Why?
KRYTEN: Because of them, sir.
We see something that looks like a T-rex with feathers, wings, a bird's
head and all the believability of an old Star Trek monster.
KRYTEN: Sir?
We see KRYTEN looking very worried and RIMMER running full tilt off into
the distance.
4 Int. Starbug.
Buzzzt -- the paddle re-appears.
LISTER: Must be safe, let's go.
Buzzzt -- they vanish.
5 Int. A large room.
Cut to an old-fashioned room with a chandelier and a big Nazi flag on the
wall. There is a large table in the room with a fireplace in the
background. There are three people in the room. The table is set out as
a war planning map. The people appear to be HITLER and two of his aids.
HITLER: This vill be ze final push, mine Komrades. Zair resources are
poor zair vill ist veek!
Buzzzt -- LISTER and CAT appear in the background.
HITLER: Ve can crush zem, Ve can grind zem into zer dirt, Ve can chew up
zair bodies and spit zem out as if zey are Sauerkraut!
LISTER is trying to get the paddle to work but hasn't got the settings
right yet
HITLER: Intruders! Seize zem!
LISTER: So long--
Buzzzt -- LISTER and CAT teleport on to the table.
LISTER: --Suckers!
HITLER: Dummkopfs! Arrest zem!
CAT: Get us out of here.
LISTER: Don't panic me, man! I'm doing my best!
6 Int. Dark Space.
Buzzzt -- LISTER and CAT teleport to a place that is dark and small.
CAT: Where are we?
LISTER: Don't know.
LISTER flicks on his lighter.
LISTER: Stone; We're in some kind of narrow stone passage way.
CAT: So what do we do?
LISTER: I can see daylight. I don't know, we could just stand around
here I suppose, 'til we work out were we are.
7 Int. Large Room.
For a couple of seconds we are in the room with HITLER and all the men in
the room are looking at the fireplace in which we see two pairs of legs,
LISTER's and CAT's.
8 Int. Dark Chimney.
LISTER: At least we're out of trouble.
CAT: Who were those guys?
LISTER: Well the short one with the stupid 'tache was Hitler, and the
jerky one with the child molester glasses that was Goebbels; suppose
the fat bastard must've been Goering. Must've been. He was a cocaine
addict and a transvestite {some thing}. If things'd worked out
different he had the makings of a major movie star.
HITLER: (VO) Hands up, pig dogs!
LISTER: Think I've just worked out were we are.
HITLER: Get the machine!
9 Int. Large Room.
LISTER and CAT are led out of the room.
CAT: You seriously telling me he's a transvestite?
LISTER: Yeah...
CAT: With those hips?
10 Ext. Forest.
A brief scene of the monsters from earlier stamping across the screen
then we switch to RIMMER and KRYTEN walking down a tree covered path.
RIMMER: I think we've lost them.
KRYTEN: I can't tell you how feeble and improbable those creatures were,
sir. I've seen more convincing dinosaurs given away free with a packet
of Wheaty Flakes. There's something wrong here...
ELVIS leaps in behind them with a machine gun.
ELVIS: Reach for the sky, boys. Thank-you-very-much {something}.
POPE GREGORY: Lets take ita nice and easy. No funny business or I
splasha your guts around likea da communion wine.
ELVIS: OK, now get moving. Thank-you-very-much.
RIMMER: Which way?
ELVIS: (Doing a classic move, he points) Thataway.
11 Int. Prison Cell.
LISTER and CAT are in a prison cell with bars on the window, one bed and
a large metal cabinet in the corner.
CAT: What do you think these guys are gonna do to us?
LISTER: What ever it takes to find out about the paddle.
CAT: Hey, if you mean torture, then say the word torture -- I can take
it!
LISTER: OK, then, they'll torture us.
CAT: Waaaaah! Torture us! Waaaaaah!
LISTER: Probably won't, man. They're probably not even interested in the
paddle. They'll probably just take us outside and execute us.
CAT: You're just saying that to make me feel better. It's just those
guys are fiends. They instantly know your weak spots. As soon as they
see me they only have to force me into platform shoes and flared
trousers and I'll sing like Tweety Pie.
LISTER: Dunno what the smeg went wrong. Kryten never said anything about
the paddle taking us back in time. Just supposed to transport us to
the nearest planet with a breathable atmosphere. How the smeg did we
wind up in the middle of the Third Reich?
CAT: What are those guys doing out there?.
LISTER: Building something.
CAT: What?
LISTER: Oh nothing, nothing. Just a sculpture, you know, a modern art
job. The kind you get in shopping malls.
CAT: What's it made of?
LISTER: Wood. It's a sort of inverted L shape in wood.
CAT: Does it have a kind of rope motif?.
LISTER: There's a sort of noose theme to it, yeah.
CAT: Its gallows, right? Look, if it's gallows, say it's gallows -- I
can take it.
LISTER: OK, it's gallows.
CAT: Waaaaah! They're building a gallows! They're hanging us! Waaaaah!
LISTER: Look man, don't panic. We're gonna escape.
CAT: How?
LISTER: Just... hijack the guards when they come in, nick their uniforms
and stroll out.
CAT: Are you insane? Do you seriously expect me to wear grey out of
season? I'd rather hang.
LISTER: Hang on, hang on. Something's happening. Some kind of parade or
drill but...
CAT: But what?
LISTER: Hang on. These guys aren't Nazis -- they're all wearing
different period costumes. There's one looks like Al Capone, there's
another like Mussolini, Richard III, Napoleon. Smeg, it's like all the
worst people in history have been brought together in one place. Oh my
God, there's James Last! I recognize him from Rimmer's record
collection.
CAT: What are they doing?.
LISTER: Well, just lining up in ... in some kind of firing squad. Woah
Woah! Hang on, hang on. Someone's being brought out, they're tying
him to a stake. It's Winnie the Pooh.
CAT: What?
LISTER: Winnie the Pooh, I swear! He's refusing the blindfold.
CAT: They're tying Winnie the Pooh to a stake?
Sound fx of gun shots.
LISTER: That's something no one should ever have to see.
Door opens and LINCOLN is thrown in the room.
LINCOLN: My God, sirs, you may break our bones but you will never break
our spirits! Good day, good sirs, the name's Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln.
12 Int. House.
We switch to a room with 4 people in it -- EINSTEIN, PYTHAGORAS, STAN
LAUREL and Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn is putting on makeup. EINSTEIN is
sitting at a desk. PYTHAGORAS is standing at a blackboard. STAN LAUREL
is just standing.
EINSTEIN: We have to face facts: the war is lost.
STAN LAUREL: But what are we gonna do?
PYTHAGORAS: I don't know. I still feel there's a solution probably
involving triangles.
EINSTEIN: Pythagoras, what is it with you? Always with the triangles,
your solution to everything is triangles! There are problems in that
can't be solved by triangles.
Enter POPE GREGORY and ELVIS with RIMMER and KRYTEN.
POPE GREGORY: Hey, we got us some prisoners.
ELVIS: Anybody got a burger? I haven't eaten in 5 minutes. Thank-you-
very-much.
RIMMER: Errr, could someone tell me what's going on here?
PYTHAGORAS: Who are these people? They're not wax droids.
RIMMER: Wax droids?
KRYTEN: Of course! This whole place, the entire complex, is a colossal
wax droid theme park. (Looks at a map.) See Prehistoric World? That
must be where we materialized, and on either side Villain World and
Hero World.
RIMMER: But I thought wax droids were programmed to repeat a simple
sequence of routines over and over again.
KRYTEN: Well, they must have broken their programming, and now they're
running amok.
STAN LAUREL: You see, we've been left here all alone for millions of
years, an...bu...we..
PYTHAGORAS: You see we learned to break our programs.
EINSTEIN: And we've been fighting this idiotic, futile war ever since.
KRYTEN: A war?
MARILYN MONROE: Good versus evil, sugar.
RIMMER: Where's the rest of your army?
STAN LAUREL: They've all been killed.
ELVIS: All our best warriors are gone, man: John Wayne, Sir Lancealot,
Joan of Arc, Nelson, Wellington. Hell, baby, even Doris Day. They've
all died in battle, man.
RIMMER: And you're all that's left. Just a smattering of intellectuals,
pacifists, and celebrities.
EINSTEIN: We number less than 20.
PYTHAGORAS: If only we numbered 21, then at least we could form an
equilateral triangle.
EINSTEIN: Will you shut up already with the triangles! Everything is
triangles, you're driving me crazy!
RIMMER: Ah. Who do the enemy have?
PYTHAGORAS: The cream of evil: Hitler, Napoleon, Mussolini, Caligula,
the Boston Strangler, dozens of them.
STAN LAUREL: And we don't even have a leader. We... haven't even got a
chance.
RIMMER: My God, Kryten, this is my destiny! I was born for this moment!
KRYTEN: I'm not sure I'm following you, sir.
RIMMER: Across that valley lies an army of darkness such as mankind has
never seen. The only thing between them and total victory is this
pathetic pocket of resistance without a leader, without a plan, and
into this bleak arena steps a man; the man for the moment.
KRYTEN: Who?
RIMMER: _Me!_ Who did you think, Pat Boone?
RIMMER: Gentlemen! Ladies! Assemble your troops for inspection at 1500
hours! Together with my valiant adjutant, Kryten, I'm gonna turn you
into the meanest, fittest fighting machine that ever graced a
battlefield. Come on, Kryten.
STAN LAUREL: I don't want to fight. I might get killed.
13 Int. Prison Cell.
LINCOLN has been talking to LISTER and CAT.
LINCOLN: And we've been fighting the Wax War ever since.
LISTER: What's the point of this war?
LINCOLN: They want our wax so they can melt us down, insert new programs
and turn us into their own kind. That's why we're becoming so
hopelessly outnumbered.
Two men enter the cell.
CALIGULA: On your feet, pigs!
CAT: Hey, buddy, we just {something}.
CALIGULA: Silence, scum! (Wack -- he hits LISTER in the face.) Do you
not sink to your knees and bow in the presence of the emperor,
Caligula?
CAT: Who is this guy?
LISTER: I think he was a famous Roman Emperor. He slept with his mother,
both his sisters, and ended up eating his son.
CAT: Hey, a little advice, bud: we all feel peckish after making love
but most of us settle for pizza.
CALIGULA: You are an impudent fool! (Wack -- he slaps LISTER again.)
LISTER: Dunno who the other one is.
LINCOLN: That's Rasputin, the most hated, loathed and despised man of his
era.
CALIGULA: This machine -- how does it work?
LISTER: Don't know. If I did, I wouldn't be here.
CALIGULA: Very well, if that's the way you want to play it. Rasputin,
bring in the bucket of soapy frogs and remove his trousers!
LISTER: Hang on, it's got something to do with travelling across sub
space.
CALIGULA: Demonstrate.
LISTER: Well, like I said, I don't really know.
CALIGULA: Very well. Rasputin, bring hither the skin-diving suit with
the bottom cut out and unleash the rampant wildebeest.
LISTER: Hang on, I'll try my best! I'll try my best! Just give it here.
CALIGULA: Aah, you think I'm insane?
CAT: Shall we take a quick vote?
CALIGULA: Silence, scum! (Wack -- he slaps LISTER, not CAT.)
LISTER: (To CAT) Shut up!
CALIGULA: We will all hold on to it.
Everyone holds on to the paddle. LISTER, CAT and LINCOLN look at each
other -- when LISTER speaks the three of them let go.
LISTER: Now!
Buzzzt -- only CALIGULA vanishes.
LISTER: Come on, let's get out of here.
They leave the cell. Just after they go, the door to the metal cabinet
opens and CALIGULA and Rasputin exit.
CALIGULA: Rasputin, I'm very cross indeed! Guards!
14 Ext. Field.
LISTER, CAT and LINCOLN are running across a field.
LINCOLN: This way! If we make good time, we should be back at HQ by
sunset.
15 Int. House.
Back at Headquarters.
RIMMER: What a challenge -- the greatest minds in military history
against me! Let's pray they're up to it.
KRYTEN: Are you sure your sanity chip is fully screwed in, sir? Have you
any conception of what's lining up outside for your inspection?
RIMMER: I'll soon shake them up. By God, I only wish the guys from the
Io Amateur Wargamers and Recreaters of the Battle of Neasden Society
could see me now. They'd choke on their pikestaffs.
Enter ELVIS.
ELVIS: Thank-you-very-much, sir, thank-you.
RIMMER: As you were, Sergeant Presley.
ELVIS: Guys are outside, sir, awaiting inspection. Thank-you-very-much.
RIMMER: Well done, Presley.
ELVIS: Uh huh huh...
ELVIS: You lead, sir. {Not sure about this too much laughing.}
RIMMER: Kryten, let's see what we've got, eh?
16 Ext. House.
Outside the Headquarters the troops are lined up. The ones not
mentioned by name: EINSTEIN, PYTHAGORAS, STAN LAUREL, POPE GREGORY, and
MARILYN MONROE.
RIMMER: What's your name, soldier?
KRYTEN: His name's Gandhi, sir, Mahatma Ghandi.
RIMMER: Well, get him out of that damm nappy and into a uniform. Have
you no pride man? Don't you want to win this war? Don't eyeball me,
Ghandi. Get on the floor and give me 50, NOW!!.
They move on down the line.
KRYTEN: Theresa, sir, Mother Theresa.
KRYTEN: Assisi, sir, Saint Francis of Assisi
RIMMER: There's only two kinds from Assisi, steers and queers -- which
are you, boy?
KRYTEN: Ah! Moving hastily on, sir.
They come upon Santa.
RIMMER: What's *he* doing here?
KRYTEN: He was posted here from the fiction section.
Moving on down the line.
KRYTEN: The Dalai Lama.
KRYTEN: Queen Victoria.
KRYTEN: Mr Noel Coward.
NOEL COWARD: Delighted to meet you, dear boy.
RIMMER: Shut up.
KRYTEN: Ah, Monsieur Jean-Paul Sartre, sir.
RIMMER: Who?
KRYTEN: He's a philosopher, sir -- an existentialist.
RIMMER: Well, Sartre, we don't like existentialists around here, and we
certainly don't like French philosophers poncing around in their black
polo necks filling everyone's heads with their theories about the
bleakness of existence and absurdity of the cosmos, clear?
Well, you're quite the worst bunch of famous historical wax droids I've
ever had the misfortune to clap my eyes on! You're a total bloody
shambles, and if we're going to win this war, someone is gonna have to
turn you into soldiers, and that someone, ladies and gentlemen, is ME.
Over to you, Kryten.
RIMMER: (To Gandhi) I'm watching you, Gandhi.
17 Ext. A Dirt Road.
Arnies Army jogging down the road in step, singing.
ELVIS: We are tough and we are mean!
TROUPS: Arnie Rimmer's death machine.
ELVIS: All we do is kill and slay.
TROUPS: Don't care if we get blown away.
ELVIS: A R Hay Hi He
TROUPS: A R Hay Hi He
ELVIS: Arnie Rimmer's Death machineeeeen aeeeen aeeeen.
18 Int. House.
Back at HQ. Rimmer is in a general's outfit with a tin hat.
KRYTEN: You're driving them too hard, sir.
RIMMER: It's my job to drive them hard, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Three of them have melted from exhaustion.
RIMMER: Perhaps I have been a bit too tough, but it's for their own good.
KRYTEN: You're killing them for their own good?
RIMMER: Look, when they get out on that battlefield, don't they think the
enemy are going to try and kill them?
KRYTEN: They won't need to -- you will have wiped them all out first.
RIMMER: I know what I'm doing, Kryten. We attack tomorrow under cover of
daylight.
KRYTEN: Daylight, sir?
RIMMER: It's the last thing they'll be expecting -- a daylight charge
over the minefield.
KRYTEN: The what-field?
RIMMER: Obviously, I'll have to coordinate things from back here. Now,
this is the plan.
ELVIS brings in LISTER and CAT.
LISTER: Rimmer!
ELVIS: Thank-you-very-much, sir. People say they know you, sir. Thank-
you-very-much.
RIMMER: Listy! Welcome to command centre.
LISTER: Rimmer, what's going on out there? Isn't that Mahatma Gandhi?
And what's he doing practising hand to hand combat with a nun?
RIMMER: That's not a nun, Listy, that's Lieutenant Colonel Mother
Theresa. She's a soldier now.
CAT: What are you doing, buddy?
RIMMER: I'm winning this war, that's what I'm doing, buddy. You won't
believe what a ragamuffin bunch of lefty, wishy-washy liberals they
were, before I knocked some good old fashinoned death-or-glory
bloodlust into them.
LISTER: Rimmer, you've taken a group of holy men and pacifists and turned
them into the Dirty Dozen!
RIMMER: Oh, I can't take *all* the credit -- couldn't have done it
without Kryten here.
KRYTEN: I'm sorry, sirs, I had no choice. I'm programmed to obey, no
matter how psychotic and deranged the human order.
LISTER: Rimmer, you're gonna get these guys wiped out, they're not
soldiers!
CAT: He's flipped.
KRYTEN: With all respect, sir, he's right. I beg you to reconsider.
RIMMER: They're only wax droids.
LISTER: But Rimmer, they've broken their programming; they're capable of
independent thought. That makes them alive, makes them practically
people -- I'm not gonna let you do it.
RIMMER: Pardon me?
LISTER: You 'eard me! If you can talk them into it, I can talk them out
of it.
RIMMER: I see. Sar'nt Presley?
ELVIS: Thank-you-very-much, sir.
RIMMER: Place these gentlemen under arrest until further notice. If they
resist, shoot them.
ELVIS: Reach for the sky, boys. Let me see them understains.
RIMMER: Come on, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Oh. He's been acting strangely ever since we landed here, sir.
I think it might have affected his mind when you chewed his light bee.
LISTER: I'll do more than chew his light bee when we get out of here.
RIMMER: KRYTEEEEN!
ELVIS: Thank-you-very-much, you've been wonderful prisoners, you really
have.
19 Ext. Mine Field.
We see Arnie's army spread out on a field RIMMER rides up behind them on
a motor bike.
RIMMER: Well... Don't know about the enemy, but you certainly scare the
hell out of me. Let's get this show on the road.
ELVIS: Companayyy! ... Advance!
Arnie's army climb out of a dugout and advance on the enemy, machine guns
blazing, everyone in a mad charge.
RIMMER: Kryten, you know what you have to do.
KRYTEN is standing with Queen Victoria when RIMMER talks to him he walks
off with Vic.
RIMMER: Let's go, Holly.
HOLLY is in the headlight of the bike.
HOLLY: OK, matey.
20 Ext. Carnage.
We see the army advancing across the minefield -- mines are exploding and
we can hear lots of gun fire. Cut to a scene of Gandhi coming towards us
then he steps on a mine and explodes leaving only a pair of smoking
boots. More scenes of Arnie's army advancing then we see Lieutenant
Colonel Mother Theresa running across the field, yelling, and running
straight into a mine and exploding again leaving smoking boots. Cut to a
scene of RIMMER shaking his head. Cut to Santa blasting away with a
machine gun. Cut to the Dalai Lama charging across the screen he also
steps on a mine and blows up. His robe floats down. Cut to Jean-Paul
Sartre; he gets shot in the chest (all shots produce a white waxy liquid
and the shot droid dies) Cut to St.Francis of Assisi; he also is shot in
the chest. Cut to Noel Coward; he is shot in the leg.
NOEL COWARD: Well shot.
We see the army advancing and either being shot or blown up.
21 Int. Enemy HQ.
HITLER, Goebbels, Goering, a hooded KKK member and some unknowns are
shooting out of the window.
HITLER: Destroy them! Keep shooting them!
The door opens and Queen Victoria comes in with a machine gun and blasts
away at them -- they all die, but as he is dying, HITLER shoots Queen
Victoria and they both die. Moments after they die KRYTEN looks round
the door; seeing them all dead he enters and pulls out a radio.
KRYTEN: Iron Duke. Iron Duke. This is Pawn Sacrifice. Come in, please.
RIMMER: (Over the radio) Kryten -- how's it going?
KRYTEN: I'm in the Third Reich building, minimal resistance. Just as you
planned, the decoy charge has drawn their fire.
RIMMER: OK. Now find the boiler room and hit the thermostat -- they'll
melt once it hits 100 degrees.
KRYTEN: I'm on my way, sir.
22 Int. House.
Back in the Good Guys' HQ. LISTER and CAT are sitting with their hands
tied behind them. RIMMER and KRYTEN enter.
RIMMER: Victory, gentlemen! The fascists have fallen!
KRYTEN: May I untie them now, sir.
RIMMER: Rejoice! We conquer! Victory on Waxworld! It's VW day!
LISTER: So you took the HQ Wiped them all out.
RIMMER: To a droid.
KRYTEN: It's true, all melted.
LISTER: What about Arnie's army?
CAT: Yeah, how many of them made it back?
RIMMER: There are always casualties in war, gentlemen. Otherwise it
wouldn't be war, just be a rather nasty argument with a lot of pushing
and shoving.
LISTER: So how many survived?
RIMMER: Well we haven't had time to make a full official estimate, but at
a rough guess, and obviously this is subject to alteration pending
information updates, roundabout none of them.
LISTER: So you wiped out the entire population of this planet.
RIMMER: You make it sound so negative, Lister. Don't you see, the
deranged menace that once threatened this world is vanquished!
LISTER: No it isn't, pal. You're still here.
RIMMER: I brought about peace. Peace, freedom and democracy.
LISTER: Yeah, Rimmer. Right. Absolutely. Now all the corpses that
litter that battlefield can just lie there safe under the knowledge
that they snuffed it under a flag of peace and can now happily
decompose in a land of freedom. Ya smeg head.
RIMMER: There really is no pleasing some people, is there?
KRYTEN: Well, at least we got the matter paddle back.
LISTER: Well, there's nothing to stay here for. Let's get back.
RIMMER: Shouldn't we go out onto the battlefield and bask in the glow of
victory?
LISTER: Holly? Give me his light bee. See ya, Rimmer.
LISTER swallows the light bee
KRYTEN: Sir! What are you thinking of?
LISTER: It's OK. He'll come out in a couple a days and he'll have been
through what he put us through. Does any one fancy a vindaloo?
The End
Closing song sung by Elvis.
Cast:
Rimmer Chris Barry
Lister Craig Charles
Cat Danny John Jules
Holly Hatty Hayridge
Kryten Robert Llewellyn
Elvis Clayton Mark
Hitler Kenneth Hadley
Einstein Martin Friend
Pythagoras Stephen Tiller
Abraham Lincoln Jack Klaff
Caligula Tony Hawks
Pope Gregory Michael Burrell
Stan Laurel Forbes Masson
Noel Coward Roger Blake
Marilyn Monroe Pauline Bailey
Showing posts with label Season 4. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Season 4. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Season 4 Episode 6 - Meltdown
Season 4 Episode 5 - Dimension Jump
RED DWARF Season IV Episode 5, "Dimension Jump"
1 Ext.
Open to a view of two reddish-yellow planets and dramatic music. Pan
down to the front planet to show a city dome of some sort, then cut to
the inside of a large greenhouse structure. RIMMER's mother walks out
from between some foliage.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Arnold? Arnold!
YOUNG RIMMER: (Age 7, hanging upside-down from a tree) I'm here, Mother!
RIMMER'S MOTHER: (Approaches him.) Ah. You know your father and I have
been terribly worried about your progress at school.
YOUNG RIMMER: Yes, Mother.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: You just haven't been getting the marks we think you're
capable of.
YOUNG RIMMER: No, Mother.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Well, a few days ago I went to see the headmaster. He
said it might be in your best interest if you were to be kept back a
year -- if you were to stay in Junior D for another year.
YOUNG RIMMER: Oh.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Is that all you've got to say?
YOUNG RIMMER: Well, it is quite difficult to talk when you're tied
upside-down to a tree.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Have you been playing with Howard and Frank?
YOUNG RIMMER: Yes.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Well, what on Earth were you playing?
YOUNG RIMMER: Well, I said it was such a shame we hadn't got a swing, and
they said they could make one. But I didn't realize they was going to
make one out of me.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Well, that's nice, darling. Anyway, your father had a
word with the headmaster and we explained how much we wanted you to be
a test pilot in the Space Corps, like your brother John, and how this
could damage your chances. We got this this morning. (Opens a
letter.) You realize how important this is. This decision could
completely alter the whole course of your life.
On screen: "Twenty Years Later."
2 Ext. Experimental spacecraft.
Cut to external view of a small, sleek spacecraft,
3 Int. Spacecraft cockpit.
We see a silver-helmeted pilot as music plays reminiscent of the film Top
Gun.
4 Ext. Base.
Shot of the craft landing at a base, with "Space Corps Test
Base/Mimas/Saturn" superimposed. We see the pilot from behind, walking
down a corridor past a few uniformed men who applaud. Pan to his front,
as he removes his sunglasses to reveal a strong, cocksure, handsome
man... ARNOLD RIMMER. He walks up to SPANNERS, who looks just like
LISTER but with short hair, a moustache, and eyeglasses, and a more
"generic" English accent.
SPANNERS: Woah! Welcome home, Ace!
ACE: Bless you, Spanners, old friend, it's good to be back.
SPANNERS: Well, how's she behave?
ACE: The lightship? Like a frolicking filly in a harvest-time pasture.
How you and your boys down in Engineering got that crate to break the
light barrier I'll never know.
SPANNERS: Well, some people might say it's the devilishly brave and
handsome guy in the cockpit that did it.
ACE: Tish, pshaw and nonsense. Any old twit can hug the event horizon of
a black hole, then loop-de-loop 'round the spinning singularity at
twice the speed of light, then slam the engines into reverse and blast
out of an imploding nebula! It's you and your guys with the magic
wrenches down on Engineering, Spanners. You're the ones that break the
records.
SPANNERS: You'll be going to this party thing they're throwing for you
tonight, I suppose?
ACE: Good god, no. Heroes' welcomes with 21-gun salutes in front of the
entire Admiralty send me to the land of Nod, Spanners. I'll be down in
the mess with the salt-of-the-earth engineering boys as per usual. See
you there at 1900?
SPANNERS: See ya' later, Ace. (They clasp hands and Ace strides off.)
What a guy!
Further down the corridor, ACE RIMMER encounters a chaplain who looks
remarkably like the CAT, dressed in plain coveralls and sporting a pipe
and grey moustache.
CAT: Ah, welcome home, son. You've been in all of our prayers, you know?
ACE: Bless you, Padre. How's little Tommy?
CAT: He's pulled t'rough. Be on his feet in no time, t'anks to you.
Sitting by his bedside day after day, night after night, holding his
hand, reading him stories...
ACE: You know me, chaplain. Any old excuse to get out of dinner with the
Admiral. Listen, 1900 we're having a bit of a bash down in the mess.
It would mean a lot to me if you were there.
CAT: Well, thank you, son.
ACE: 1900
CAT: Mmm. (Ace continues down the corridor.) What a guy!
5 Int. Outer office.
Cut to the outer office of some superior officer. ACE strides in and is
greeted by the secretary, MELLIE, who bears a not-so-surprising
resemblance to HOLLY, but with a whole body and shorter hair.
MELLIE: Say, you dog, you're back.
ACE: Did you ever doubt it, when I've got someone like you to come back
to?
MELLIE: Ooo, if only it were true. What are you doing lunchtime?
ACE: Not sure. Why?
MELLIE: Because if you're interested, I'll be in my quarters, covered in
maple syrup.
ACE: I'm sorry, Mellie, I don't fraternize with the staff.
MELLIE: I resign.
ACE: I'll be there at 1300.
ACE enters the inner office, which is occupied by BONGO, who could be
KRYTEN if only he were a tad more mechanical and had much squarer
features.
BONGO: You're back.
ACE: 'Fraid so.
BONGO: Had the feeling you might be. Rubber shares went up this morning.
ACE: You wanted to see me, Bongo?
BONGO: Ever hear of a thing called the dimension theory of reality?
ACE: Doesn't that run along the lines of, there is an infinite number of
parallel universes where every possibility exists?
BONGO: It's along those lines, yeah. The basic tenet states that for
every decision that's made, the alternative decision is played out in
another reality.
ACE: So?
BONGO: So, the lab boys have come up with a drive that can break the
speed of reality.
ACE: Those boffins have hammered together a crate that can cross
dimensions? When do I launch?
BONGO: It's a one-way ticket, Ace. There's no coming back.
ACE: I'm free at 1500.
BONGO: You do realize, this is a prototype -- there's no way of knowing
if it'll even get there.
ACE: Where's there, exactly?
BONGO: You'll be transported to an alternative reality, a reality where
there's another Arnold Rimmer. Some decision was made at some point in
your life where he went one way, and you went the other. You might
find he's quite different to you.
ACE: Sounds like quite a caper.
BONGO: You'll do it?
ACE: I'm a test pilot in the Space Corps, Bongo. It's my job to do it.
BONGO: I know that this prob'ly won't interest you, but I'd hate myself
for the rest of my life if I didn't at least suggest it.
ACE: Suggest what?
BONGO: If you're interested, I'll be in my quarters at lunchtime, covered
in torama* salada.
ACE: I didn't know your bread was buttered that side, Bongo.
BONGO: It isn't. I've been happily married for 35 years. It's just, a
chap like you can turn a guy's head.
ACE: I'm sorry, Bongo. Lunch is...on Mellie.
BONGO: Would it make any difference if it was...hummus?
ACE: I'm sorry, Bongo. I'm strictly "butter-side-up."
BONGO: Understood. (ACE leaves the office.) What a guy!
6 Int. Prototype's hangar.
MELLIE, SPANNERS, BONGO and the chaplain are lined up to watch it take
off.
CAT: God speed and bless you, son!
ACE: (In cockpit) All systems check. Let's get this cart up into the big
black. Ignition...chocks away... 'Bye, Bongo. 'Bye, Spanners. 'Bye,
Padre. 'Bye, Mellie. Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.
ALL: 'Bye, Ace!
The prototype ship launches and moves away.
7 Int. Sleeping quarters.
Inside a dim cabin. RIMMER is asleep on the bottom bunk, LISTER is lying
on the top bunk, and KRYTEN is standing with a fishing hat and a large
net. KRYTEN holds his finger to his lips as LISTER, wearing fishing
lures in his hat, quietly gets out of bed and gets a tackle box from the
corner.
RIMMER: Lights! (Room brightens.)
LISTER: What?
RIMMER: What are you doing?
LISTER: (Innocently) What are we doing?
RIMMER: Yes, what are you doing?
LISTER: Just nipping down to the cinema, to catch the midnight movie.
RIMMER: What, dressed like that?
LISTER: Yeah. Going to see Jaws.
RIMMER: You're going fishing, aren't you? That ocean planet we passed
two days ago. You're going fishing without me.
LISTER: Oh, come off it, man. Don't be ridiculous.
The CAT walks in, also wearing fishing garb, although of a terribly
fashionable sort.
CAT: Hey, what are you doing with the lights on? Come on, let's get out
of here before --
RIMMER: I don't believe it. All three of you.
CAT: What's he talking about?
LISTER: I dunno. For some reason he's got this crazy, wacked-out idea
that we're all going on a fishing holiday.
CAT: A fishing holiday?!
RIMMER: (Picking up a note from the table, reading it) "Dear Rimmer, We
have gone on a fishing holiday to the ocean planet we passed two days
ago. We tried to wake you but couldn't. See you in three weeks.
Lister, Kryten, and Cat."
KRYTEN: Oh, please, sir. They forced me to do it. I had no choice.
LISTER: Kryten!
RIMMER: Why did you want to go without me?
LISTER: We didn't want to go without you. We just thought it wasn't your
scene. I mean, fishing, that's boring, isn't it?
RIMMER: I love fishing! The glow of the dawn, the line arcing into the
water...
LISTER: That's it! That's exactly the reason we didn't invite you.
There's no fish.
KRYTEN: That, at least, is true, sir. We sent down a search probe and
there is no marine life on the entire planet.
LISTER: We're just gonna sit out on Starbug, dangle the rods over the
side and have a few cans, you know, chill out.
RIMMER: I don't believe anybody'd want to go on a fishing holiday where
they know there's no fish.
LISTER: What, we used to do it all the time, back home. We used to go
down to the canal. Never any fish in that! We used to go condom
fishing. I swear! One time I caught this two-pound black ribbed
nobler! It was about that big! (Holds hands about half a meter
apart.)
RIMMER: Why didn't you just say, "Dear Rimmer, We're going on a fishing
holiday and we don't want you to come?"
CAT: See, that's what I said we should say!
LISTER: (To the Cat) Shh!
RIMMER: I don't know what it is about me. All my life, it's been the
same old story. It's not easy, you know, to come in every night, look
in that mirror, and see a guy nobody likes.
CAT: How do you think we feel? We got to look at it all day!
LISTER: (Shushes the Cat.) Look, we just thought you wouldn't want to
come.
RIMMER: I tried to be liked, god knows I tried. I regaled you with
amusing stories of when I was treasurer of the Hammond Organ Owners'
Society. You never laugh. I offer to talk you through my photo
collection of 20th century telegraph poles. You've always got some
excuse! None of you like morris dancing! Would that break your
hearts, every once in a while, the four of us getting our knees in the
air -- the jingle of bells, the clonk of wood on wood? But no, every
time I suggest it you all pretend to be ill.
LISTER: You've got it wrong, man. We just thought you wouldn't want to
come. Now we know you do, great, you can come. The way you're going
on about it, it's like some major conspiracy, we've been planning it
for days. We haven't.
RIMMER: Really?
LISTER: Really.
RIMMER: All right, then, I'll come. I'll just get changed. Holly?
HOLLY: (Appears on the screen wearing a fishing cap.) Oh, who woke him
up?
8 Model Shot.
Starbug leaves Red Dwarf and flies through space.
RIMMER: (VO) Steady now, Kryten.
KRYTEN: (VO) Yes, sir.
Shift view to cockpit of Starbug, Kryten piloting, Rimmer sitting next to
him.
RIMMER: Best to get there in one piece than to rush it and cause an
accident, eh?
KRYTEN: I have passed my test, sir; I am a fully qualified pilot.
RIMMER: (Pointing) Mind that star!
KRYTEN: Wha- That star is over two light years away, sir. We're nowhere
near it!
RIMMER: There's no percentage in being a boy racer, Kryten. Okay, you've
passed your test -- Mind that planet!
KRYTEN: Which planet?
RIMMER: (Pointing) That planet!
KRYTEN: That's- That's the planet we're heading to, sir.
RIMMER: Excellent. Excellent. Plot an orbital course, we'll be there in
no time.
KRYTEN: Yes, sir, I have done, sir.
RIMMER: Yes, and get the second stage under way.
KRYTEN: I already have done, sir.
RIMMER: But you haven't correlated the data with the main computer banks,
have you?
KRYTEN: Yes, sir, I have, sir.
RIMMER: You know- You now your trouble, Kryten?
KRYTEN: What, sir?
RIMMER: You're a git.
Shift view to the back compartment, where Lister and the Cat are seated.
CAT: Stupid. Three weeks stuck with Captain Yawn.
LISTER: Look, it wasn't my fault. I could've sweet-talked our way out of
it if you hadn't've blown the whole gaffe.
CAT: Me? What did I do?
LISTER: I could've sweet-talked my way out of it, but oh, no, you had to
come blundering in with your size 12's.
CAT: You are so two-faced! Why haven't you got the guts just to tell the
dude nobody likes him?
LISTER: Oh, yeah, great. Brilliant. What'm I supposed to say? "Excuse
me, man. D'you know you're about as popular as a horny dog at a Miss
Lovely Legs competition?"
CAT: That's what I'd do! I'd say -- (RIMMER walks in.) Hi, buddy, how's
it goin'?
RIMMER: Agh, I just had to get out of there. He's driving me nuts! I
cannot stand front-seat drivers. Well, come on, there's not a lot
going on in here. We're on holiday! Let's cheer things up a bit. How
'bout some music? I've brought my Hammond CD's with me. How about
"Reggie Wilson plays the Lift Music Classics?" (LISTER shakes his
head.) What about "Sounds of the Supermarket: 20 Shopping Greats?"
CAT: Has anyone seen the keys to the medical cabinet? I feel a sudden
urge to suffocate myself with a two-pound black ribbed nobler.
LISTER: Not Reggie Wilson, please, Rimmer.
RIMMER: You don't like Reggie Wilson? What? Not even "Pop goes Delius"
or "Funking up Wagner?"
LISTER: I prefer something slightly more melodious, like the long, drawn-
out death rattle of a man suffering from terminal flatulence.
RIMMER: Come on, you bores. Let's do something. How about we all sing
campfire songs? (Singing) Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya -- Everyone!
Kryten! -- Kumbaya, Kumbaya.
HOLLY: (Appearing on the screen) Purple alert, purple alert!
LISTER: What's a purple alert?
HOLLY: Well, it's sort of like, not as bad as a red alert, but a bit
worse than a blue alert. Kind of like a mauve alert, don't want to say
"mauve alert."
RIMMER: Holly! Wipe the rabid foam from your chin and start again.
HOLLY: There's some sort of disruption to the time-fabric continuum. At
least, I presume that's what it is, it's certainly got all the signs.
There's this big wibbly-wobbly swirly thing that's headed straight
towards us.
RIMMER: (Runs forward to cockpit. To KRYTEN) What is it?
KRYTEN: I don't know, sir. Whichever way I maneuver it follows us! It
seems to be locked in on us. Wait -- there's something coming out of
it. It's going to hit us! Collision course!
ACE's ship comes out of the swirly thing, headed straight for Starbug.
Alarms sound.
KRYTEN: Good god! Emergency, emergency! Adopt crash procedure!
RIMMER: (Runs back to rear compartment.) Where's the card? Who's got the
card?!
LISTER: What card?
RIMMER: The plastic card, the plastic card with the cartoons of the crash
procedure on it!
LISTER: Don't panic, man!
RIMMER: It should be in the netting behind the seats. Haven't we got to
sit behind a woman clutching a baby? What's the drill?!
LISTER: Look, I know what is it!
RIMMER: What?
LISTER: Sit down, tuck your head between your legs and brace yourself.
RIMMER: (Bracing) Now what?
LISTER: Then you open the in-flight magazine and start reading. Thing
is*, the articles act as a sedative. I mean, look at this: "Contents
List: Salt, an Epicure's Delight; Classic Wines of Estonia; Flemish
Weaving the Traditional Way." (To the CAT, whose head is lolling) Don't
fight it, man, let it take you.
RIMMER: How can you be so mind-bogglingly flippant? Don't you know
what's going to happen? We're going to crash!
LISTER: You've got to stay calm! It's a well-known fact, the more
relaxed you are, the less likely you are to be injured.
KRYTEN: Good luck, everybody, here it comes!
ACE's ship strikes Starbug a glancing blow.
LISTER: (Reading) The ancient Egyptians were great believers in salt.
CAT: (Reading) When most people think of classic wines, they are unlikely
to consider the Estonian reds, yet Estonian grapes are among the
fruitiest and most subtle.
RIMMER: (Reading) Since the beginning of the 13th century, Belgium has
been the home of some of the most remarkable weaving to come out of
northwest Europe.
Starbug crashes on the ocean world below, crashing through a jagged pile
of rock and landing in the water. KRYTEN comes back to the others. Only
RIMMER is still in his seat; LISTER has been thrown behind some debris
and the CAT is lying on the floor under more junk.
KRYTEN: Is everyone all right?
RIMMER: Yes, thank god, I'm fine.
LISTER: (Standing up) Cat!
CAT: Oh, it's bad, buddy, it's real bad. (LISTER and RIMMER uncover
him.) See what I mean? (Points to his leg.) Red with apricot. I look
like a jerk. I'm bleeding an unfashionable color. If I'd known I was
going to get my leg crushed I'd've worn white. It goes with
everything.
LISTER: Is anything broken?
CAT: Yeah. All the stitching's come away, and the lining's ripped.
Somebody, please, get me a tailor!
LISTER: Kryten, get the First Aid box. We have to clean this up, make
sure he doesn't get gangrene.
CAT: Gangrene? You think I might get gangrene?
LISTER: Yeah.
CAT: Hey, that might work! Green with apricot -- I think I could pull
that off!
KRYTEN: It's a break, sir. Quite a bad one. I'm going to have to snap
the bone back into line, and there's no anaesthetic.
LISTER: Here, read the in-flight magazine.
CAT: (Reading) "Salt: an epicure's delight. The salt on a typ--" (His
leg makes a cracking sound as ACE sets it.) Oooh, my god!
KRYTEN: Did it hurt?
CAT: No, I'm talking about the article! Have you done my leg yet?
RIMMER: Holly, what's the damage?
HOLLY: (Appearing on the screen, tilted 45 degrees clockwise) It doesn't
look good. We've lost the port engine, the starboard engine's packed
up, the fuel line's severed, we're taking in water through the hull,
we've lost the landing jets, half the electric's out, and the elastic's
snapped on the furry dice.
RIMMER: What does that mean in real terms?
HOLLY: Well, it means you got a more tasteful cockpit. but unless you
fix that starboard engine in the next 40 minutes we're going to start
sinking.
RIMMER: Anything we can do?
HOLLY: We could try to hire a dance band and get it to play "Abide With
Me."
LISTER: I'm going to have to go out there and fix the engine.
RIMMER: You don't know anything about engines!
KRYTEN: Besides, there's a 40-knot gale out there. You'd have to be
insane to even attempt it. Only a fool or a hero would even consider
it.
9 Ext. Ace's craft.
10 Int. Ace's cockpit.
ACE: Bingo! Down there, they've ditched into the drink. I'm bailing
out, Computer!
COMPUTER VOICE: (Just like HOLLY's) But, Ace, it's a suicide mission!
ACE: I caused the smash, should apologize. Only manners. Bring her
'round for another pass.
COMPUTER VOICE: Please, Ace, don't go. I love you.
ACE: Stiff upper modem, old girl. Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for
breakfast.
View shifts back to Starbug as ACE walks in.
ACE: Name's Commander Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer. Friends call me "Ace."
I've come from another dimension. Explain later. But first of all,
let's get you out of this pit. (To KRYTEN) What do they call you,
matey?
KRYTEN: Uh, Kryten, sir.
ACE: Series 4000 mechanoid, am I right? Salt of the Space Corps. (To
LISTER) Spanners!
LISTER: Eh?
ACE: I'm sorry, you reminded me of a fellow I once knew. What's your
handle?
LISTER: Lister. Dave Lister.
ACE: Of course it is. Put it there, Dave. You look a gr3eat bloke to be
in a scrape with. (Looks at the CAT) What about the guy in the sharp
suit?
LISTER: He hasn't got a name; we just call him Cat.
ACE: Looks like you bought yourself a broken leg there, Cat. I love the
Cuban heels. (Looks at HOLLY.) Who's the beautifully* delicious,
stunningly gorgeous computer?
HOLLY: Holly. (Swoons off side of screen.)
RIMMER walks in.
ACE: My god, it's me, only much more handsome! Well, looks like I'm
superfluous. Old Arnie'll have you out of here in no time!
LISTER: He's a hologram. He can't touch anything.
ACE: (To RIMMER) Dead. eh? Well, commiserations, old man. What a
crashing bore that must be.
RIMMER: You're me?
ACE: Don't quite understand the science, but it's got something to do
with us living identical lives up until a certain point, where a
decision was made, and you went one way, I went the other. (To all)
Still, can't hang around chin-wagging all day. Let's get this box up
into the air, shall we? What's your plan, Arn?
RIMMER: I haven't got one.
ACE: Okay, right, well, um... I suggest this: the starboard engine is
repairable, but it's a two-man job. Any volunteers?
LISTER: Yeah, okay, count me in. I've got a window in my schedule this
afternoon.
ACE: Not so fast, Davy boy, you leapt in so quick you didn't give Arnie
here a chance to speak. He was just about to volunteer, weren't you,
Arn?
RIMMER: No, I wasn't.
ACE: Okay, well, um, let's get cracking, shall we, Dave? What's the
starboard engine's thrust-to-input ratio, Arn?
RIMMER: What's that?
ACE: Well, you can work it out: what's the craft's inertia rating?
RIMMER: I don't know.
ACE: Well, what's the p.s.i.?
RIMMER: I don't know!
ACE: Oh. Okay, we'll work it out when we get there, shall we? Come on,
Dave, better grab a brolly, there's a bit of a drizzle outside.
KRYTEN: (To ACE) Sir, can I have a word in private?
ACE: Of course, old friend! Excuse us.
ACE and KRYTEN move into the cockpit and KRYTEN closes the door aft.
ACE: What's the prob, Kryters*?
KRYTEN: Well, I have a limited understanding of medicine, sir, but it's
plainly obvious even to me that your left arm is broken in several
places.
ACE: Took a bit of a tumble in the landing. It's only a scratch.
KRYTEN: I cannot allow you to go out in this storm, sir. Not with your
arm in that condition. I must insist you allow me to go in your place.
ACE: I see. (Turns away from KRYTEN.) The Series 4000 isn't waterproof,
is it?
KRYTEN: That's besides the point, sir.
ACE: Look, I'll tell you what we'll do. (Turns around and punches
KRYTEN, who falls into the pilot's seat.) Sorry, old chum, no option.
(Returns to the aft compartment.) Arnie, Kryten's taken a bit of a
whack. I want you to rewire his circuitry and bring him back on-line.
RIMMER: How?
ACE: You don't know how to do that?
RIMMER: No.
ACE: (Turning away) Come on, Dave, let's catch a breath of fresh air.
(To RIMMER) Smoke me a kipper -- can you do that? -- I'll be back for
breakfast.
ACE and LISTER head out, and RIMMER gives ACE's back a middle-finger
salute.
11 Ext.
Cut to outside, in a raging storm, where LISTER and ACE are standing on a
sort of catwalk along Starbug's hull.
ACE: (Shouting) What's your favorite music, Dave?
LISTER: Eh?
ACE: Keeps your spirits up if you* sing a song.
LISTER: I like rasta* Billy Skank.
ACE: Right!
LISTER cries out as he slips and falls through the railing. He grabs the
rail and hangs off the side of the catwalk. ACE dangles his broken left
arm down to him.
ACE: Grab my arm, Dave! Grab my arm! (LISTER does, and hauls himself
back up.) 'Fraid I'm going to have to do something a bit sissy now:
black out. (Slumps against LISTER for about three seconds.) Sorry
about that! Let's get cracking*! (Singing) Whether you like rasta,*
Billy -- Go on, Dave, sing that song!
LISTER: (Singing) Whether you like OBrasta,* Billy...
12 Int. Starbug rear section.
CAT: (Muttering) Paisley with stripes. That's nice. Green anoraks with
fuzzy collars, they're great.
KRYTEN: Oh, sir! He's delirious!
CAT: Oh, rubber trousers, held down with bicycle clips. Wow!
RIMMER: "Commander Rimmer!" I ask you. "Ace!" Barf city. I bet you
anything he wears women's underwear. They're all the same, this type,
you know, Hurly-burly, rough-n-tumble macho marines in public, and
behind closed doors he'll be parading up and down in taffeta ballgowns,
drinking mint juleps, whipping the houseboy.
KRYTEN: Sir, he's you! It's just that your lives diverged at a certain
point in time.
RIMMER: Yes, I went into the gents and he went the other way.
KRYTEN: I assume, sir, you are making fatuous references to his
sexuality. If I may point out, if --
ACE and RIMMER come in, jubilant, and do a little celebratory dance like
professional athletes sometimes do after winning a match.
LISTER: Yes! We did it!
ACE: A wooga, a wooga, a wah, a wah, a wooga, a wooga, a wah!
ACE: (To LISTER) What a team! How you got that housing clear I'll never
know.
LISTER: Come on, Ace, it was you! I could never have reconnected that
fuel line.
ACE: Well, I wouldn't have been able to do it if you hadn't been holding
my ankles.
LISTER: Well how could you hang upside down and fix the starboard engine?
It was totally brutal!
ACE: What a team.
LISTER: What a team!
RIMMER: Now I know where I've seen you two! Weren't you the double-
action centerfold in July's issue of "Big Boys in Boots?"
ACE: Now, look here, Arnie. You can say what you like about me, but I
won't hear a word against Skipper here.
RIMMER: Skipper?
ACE: A man like him deserves a nickname. I thought "Skipper" sat rather
well.
RIMMER: "Ace and Skipper?" You sound like a kid's TV series about a boy
and his bush kangaroo!
ACE: Don't listen to him, Skipper. Let's get this tea chest back up into
the stars and back to the small rouge one, eh?
RIMMER: Yeah, the sooner we get back the sooner you two can climb into a
nice, hot, soapy bath and play "spot the submarine."
KRYTEN: Sir -- the Cat -- I don't think he's going to last much longer!
The CAT is on the floor, all four limbs in the air. View changes to
Starbug landing inside Red Dwarf, then the CAT being wheeled along on a
gurney.
CAT: Bry* nylon underwear. Sock suspenders. Suits with cardigans!
KRYTEN: Oh, sir, he's delirious! His leg's all swollen. I- I think he
may lose it.
LISTER: Lose his leg?!
KRYTEN: I fear so. The operation to save it is beyond my expertise.
CAT: Lose my leg? Hey, that's terrible. None of my suits will fit!
ACE: Kryten, I'll need 500 cc's of corticoadrenaline, two pints of
plasma, a laser scalpel, and some kind of tissue sample a microboliton*
will do.
RIMMER: (Disgusted) Oh, my god!
ACE: Field microsurgery: all part of basic training in the Space Corps
Special Service. I'll go scrub up.
RIMMER: I'll go and throw up.
Fade to view of LISTER and RIMMER's cabin. RIMMER is there, and LISTER
walks in.
RIMMER: How's the Cat?
LISTER: Oh, Ace did it. Cat's fine now, he's just sitting up in bed
looking through some swatches. Trying to find the material he likes
for his dressings. I don't know how Ace does it. He's been on his
feet for 36 hours, he's still laughing and joking. What a guy. He's
just nipped off to teach Kryten how to play the piano. Amazing dude.
RIMMER: So, is it simple registry office, or a full church do for you
two?
LISTER: I don't understand your attitude, Rimmer. He's you!
RIMMER: He's not me, I'm me. He's a me who had all the luck, all the
chances. all the breaks that I never got.
LISTER: No, it was just a single incident. And your lives went off in
completely different directions. It's incredible to think that one
decision in your childhood could produce such drastically different
people.
RIMMER: Right. He probably got to go to some really great school, while
I was lumbered with Io House. He got to meet all the right people,
greased his way up the old boy network, towel-flicked his way into the
Space Corps, Masonic-handshook his way into flight school, and brown-
tongued his way up the ranks.
LISTER: You'd think you'd be pleased that somewhere, in some other
dimension, there's another you, another you doing really well for
himself.
RIMMER: Oh, come on. How'd you feel if some git arrived from another
dimension, another Lister, with wall-to-wall charisma and a Ph.D. in
being handsome and wonderful?
LISTER: Hey, man, I am that Lister!
RIMMER: No, come on, how would you feel if there was another Lister doing
a hell of a lot better that you are?
LISTER: There is! Ace knows him. That's why he called me Spanners when
he first came in. In Ace's dimension, he's a flight engineer in the
Space Corps, married to Christine Kochanski, twin boys, Jim and Bexon*.
I made up for him! Whatever he did that I didn't, he deserves the lot.
For me it makes sense, him having all this stuff. To think that in
every dimension, every possibility is played out -- hell, there's
probably a really, really weird dimension where you're better-looking
than me.
RIMMER: Well, it just makes me bitter. You know I've always had this
thing about not getting the breaks. Well, there's living proof of what
I could've achieved if I'd gotten the one he got.
ACE: (Calling in from corridor) Skipper, got a mo'?
RIMMER: Go on, he's probably picked a ring.
LISTER goes out to the corridor, where ACE is just finishing sewing up
his own left arm.
ACE: Skipper, I've decided I'm not going to stay.
LISTER: Why?
ACE: Him and me. It would never work. I just can't stand to be near the
man. To see myself so warped, so bitter, so weasely. The man's a
maggot.
LISTER: So where're you going to go?
ACE: Just out there. I can't go back, But there's a billion other
realities to explore. A billion other Arnold Rimmers to meet. Maybe
somewhere there's one who's more of a pain in the butt than him. But I
doubt it.
LISTER: Well, good luck, man. And, look, don't be too hard on Rimmer.
You got the break, he didn't. He's just bitter.
ACE: D'you know what that break was? At the age of seven, one of us was
kept back a year, the other wasn't. (Gestures to knot on his arm
stitches.) Put your finger on that, will you, Skipper? (Tugs sharply
on thread and breaks it.)
LISTER: And that's the only difference? Rimmer went down a year, and you
stayed up?
ACE: No, I was the one who went down a year. By his terms, he got the
break. But being kept down a year made me. The humiliation... Being
the tallest boy in the class by a clear foot. It changed me, made me
buckle down, made me fight back. And I've been fighting back ever
since.
LISTER: While he spent the rest of his life making excuses.
ACE: Maybe he's right. Maybe I did get the lucky break... I'll grab my
things and be off, Dave. Smoke me a kipper, Skipper, I'll be back for
breakfast.
ACE walks off along the corridor. We shift to see RIMMER hunched over
next to a robot arm which is holding a line attached to something big
suspended over a doorway.
RIMMER: Ha, hah. (To robot arm) Ready? (Arm nods up and down.) I'll
smoke him a smegging kipper.
ACE passes through the rigged doorway.
RIMMER: Now!
The robot arm pulls the line, and nothing happens. ACE looks up over the
doorway at the big object still suspended there and shakes his head.
Closing shot is ACE's craft leaving Red Dwarf to the accompaniment of
another Top Gun theme.
ACE: In the decades that followed, Ace Rimmer searched countess realities
and met thousands of different Arnold Rimmers. However he never
encountered an Arnold Rimmer as deeply sad and worthless as the one
he'd met aboard Red Dwarf. His impossible search continues...
RIMMER'S VOICE: It's Wednesday night; it's amateur Hammond organ recital
night. Okay, take it away, skutters!
The end theme song is played as on a Hammond organ, rather stylized, with
plenty of repetitive background and no vocals.
The End
Additional credits:
Mrs. Rimmer Kalli Greenwood
Young Rimmer Simon Gaffney
Season 4 Episode 4 - White Hold
RED DWARF Season IV Episode 4, "White Hole"
1 Toaster View.
The screen hums and crackles with white noise, which clears to a computer
display:
BOOT UP SEQUENCE INITIATED
Clears to display:
VISUAL SYSTEM CCD 517.3
ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE SYSTEM K177
MACHINE IDENT: TALKIE TOASTER ,,=============
MANUFACTURER: TAIWAN (( CRAPOLA INC.
RECOMMENDED RETAIL PRICE: ``=============
$#19.99 PLUS TAX
Clears to display:
AURAL SYSTEM: ON-LINE
This vanishes, to be replaced with a view of KRYTEN; it is heavily biased
toward the chin, as though shot from beneath, and through a yellow
filter. As we watch, the yellow fades, to be replaced by colours.
KRYTEN: Hello? Can you hear me? Oh, no, of course not: I haven't
engaged your verbal systems.
He presses some buttons on an off-screen keyboard.
LISTER: (From offscreen) Kryten.
2 Int. Science room.
LISTER approaches KRYTEN.
LISTER: Kryten, what you doing, man?
KRYTEN: I've just repaired the toaster, Sir. Well, I've nearly repaired
the toaster.
LISTER: Oh NO, man! Dismantle him! You don't know what the little
bleeder's like!
KRYTEN: Well, I've read all the documentation, Sir. He's simply a
talking alarm clock who provides his owner with early morning toast and
light conversation.
LISTER: Not this one. This one's mental!
KRYTEN: Sir?
LISTER: He's defective. He wants everyone to eat toast ALL OF THE TIME.
He's obsessed with it. And if you don't want to eat, like, four
hundreds rounds of toast EVERY HOUR, he throws a major wobbly. That's
what caused the accident in the first place.
KRYTEN: What accident?
LISTER: The accident involving me, the toaster, the waste disposal and
the fourteen pound lump-hammer.
KRYTEN: That explains why he was down in the garbage hold in three
thousand separate pieces.
LISTER: Another thing. He always says "Howdy doodly do." Drives you
spare. I mean, what the smeg does "Howdy doodly do" mean?
KRYTEN: Well, just trust me, Sir. My motives will become clear.
He presses some more buttons on the keyboard. The TOASTER lights up and
speaks. Its bread-lowering lever moves up and down as it speaks with its
mid-Atlantic accent in an impossibly cheerful tone:
TOASTER: Howdy doodly do! How's it going? I'm Talkie -- Talkie Toaster,
your chirpy breakfast companion. Talkie's the name, toasting's the
game. Anyone like any toast?
LISTER: Look, _I_ don't want any toast, and _he_ (indicating KRYTEN)
doesn't want any toast. In fact, no one around here wants any toast.
Not now, not ever. NO TOAST.
TOASTER: How 'bout a muffin?
LISTER: OR muffins! OR muffins! We don't LIKE muffins around here! We
want no muffins, no toast, no teacakes, no buns, baps, baguettes or
bagels, no croissants, no crumpets, no pancakes, no potato cakes and no
hot-cross buns and DEFINITELY no smegging flapjacks!
TOASTER: Aah, so you're a waffle man!
LISTER: (to KRYTEN) See? You see what he's like? He winds me up, man.
There's no reasoning with him.
KRYTEN: If you'll allow me, Sir, as one mechanical to another. He'll
understand me. (Addressing the TOASTER as one would address an errant
child) Now. Now, you listen here. You will not offer ANY grilled
bread products to ANY member of the crew. If you do, you will be on
the receiving end of a very large polo mallet.
TOASTER: Can I ask just one question?
KRYTEN: Of course.
TOASTER: Would anyone like any toast?
KRYTEN: Didn't you HEAR what I just said?
TOASTER: Yes, but I thought you might have changed your mind in the
meantime.
LISTER: You see? You see what he's like?
KRYTEN: (Exasperated) We haven't changed our mind!
LISTER: NO TOAST!
TOASTER: But I am a toaster. It is my /raison d'etre/. I toast,
therefore I am. If you don't want any toast, why did you repair me?
LISTER: Yeah, why did you repair him?
KRYTEN: He's a guinea pig for a technique called "Intelligence
Compression." His AI chips were very badly damaged in the accident.
TOASTER: But that was no accident! That was first-degree toastercide!
LISTER: Just shut your grill!
LISTER elbows the toaster in the grill, hard. It says "Ow," but nothing
more.
KRYTEN: By re-routing his circuitry, and channelling all his runtime
through a single CPU, I've managed to restore his intelligence, at the
cost of reducing his operational lifespan.
LISTER: So?
KRYTEN: So, if it works with him, it could work with Holly. We could
restore her IQ of six thousand. She could be brilliant again.
3 Int. Later.
In a different section of Red Dwarf. The entire crew is here. Cables
fill the corridor. KRYTEN is re-routing circuitry with a large
screwdriver
RIMMER: You really think this can work? You really think that airhead of
a computer can become a genius again?
KRYTEN: Well, with no disrespect to Holly, Sir, it could hardly make her
worse.
CAT: Right. If we can just teach her to count without banging her head
on the screen it's gonna be an improvement.
LISTER: Computer senility. Such a weird condition.
KRYTEN: I know. I had a mechanoid friend once who suffered from the same
affliction. His name was Gilbert, but he preferred it if people called
him "Rameses Niblick the Third, Kerplunk Kerplunk, Whoops, Where's My
Thribble." A sad case.
RIMMER: Well, if you ask me, the Eskimos had the right idea. They KNEW
how to handle the elderly and the permanently baffled. Middle of the
night, they'd take them out into the blizzard, remove their pyjamas,
and just leave them to it.
KRYTEN: And that's how the Eskimos cared for their old people?
RIMMER: Absolutely. That's why there's no Eskimo word for "Eastbourne."
LISTER: If we can pull this off, man, if Holly CAN get her brains back,
she'll be able to do anything. Invent a hyperdrive, get us back to
Earth...
KRYTEN: If Earth still exists. And if it does, it's very doubtful the
human race will have survived.
LISTER: All right then, a time machine. She can invent a time machine,
and we could all pick whatever period in history we wanted to live in.
RIMMER: Well, it'll be the nineteenth century for me. One of Napoleon's
marshals. The chance to march across Europe with the greatest general
of all time and kill Belgians. Marvellous.
LISTER: What about you, Kryters?
KRYTEN: Well, if I could go anywhere, absolutely anywhere at all in time,
I think I'd probably choose to go back to a week last Tuesday.
LISTER: Why?
KRYTEN: Don't you remember? I did all the laundry, and then we watched
TV. Wow, we won't see the like of THOSE sorts of days again.
HOLLY appears on the viewscreen.
HOLLY: How long now?
LISTER: Nearly there, Hol. Just a couple of minutes to load the circuits
and, I dunno, maybe a minute to finalise the connection.
HOLLY bangs her head on the screen -- once, twice, thrice
HOLLY: So, it's just three minutes then? Better get down to the science
room.
CAT: We'd better pray to God this works. That ion storm has really done
her head in, man.
4 Int. Science room.
HOLLY's console is surrounded by cables in what looks like a string-and-
sticky-tape operation. Skutters rush about manipulating cables. An
electronic bleep sounds.
HOLLY: There's the signal. Everything's set.
TOASTER: Well, let's just hope you don't get an overload.
HOLLY: What happens if I DO get an overload?
TOASTER: You'll explode.
HOLLY: Oh. (Thinks a bit.) It'd be worth it.
A skutter pulls a wire. A rumble begins to build.
HOLLY: It's coming! I can feel it!
The rumble builds up. Electrical sparks shoot up and down the cables;
minor explosions occur. HOLLY's image on the viewscreen shatters and
flies outward. The viewscreen displays:
NEW IQ RATING: 68.
HOLLY's face reappears, with eyes crossed and a goofy expression.
NEW IQ RATING: 368.
Again, the image explodes, to be replaced by a more normal-looking HOLLY;
but the head seems to waver as though under great stress.
NEW IQ RATING: 2,368.
When the display settles to...
NEW IQ RATING: 12,368.
HOLLY's image vanishes from the viewscreen. Her head appears,
hologramatically, within the science room, about two feet off the ground
and four feet tall.
HOLLY: Strike a light, I'm a genius again! I know everything!
Metaphysics, philosophy, the purpose of being; everything! Ask me a
question, any question, and I'll answer it!
TOASTER: Any question?
HOLLY: Yes.
TOASTER: How to break the speed of light? How to marry quantum mechanics
and classical physics? Any question at all -- truly anything -- and
you will answer?
HOLLY: Yes.
TOASTER: Okay, here's my question: Would you like some toast?
HOLLY: No, thank you. Now ask me another.
TOASTER: Do you know anything about the use of chaos theory in predicting
weather cycles?
HOLLY: I know everything there is to know about chaos theory in
predicting weather cycles!
TOASTER: Oh, very well. Here's my second question: Would you like a
crumpet?
HOLLY: (slowly) I'm a computer with a IQ of twelve thousand. You don't
seem to understand; I know the meaning of the universe!
TOASTER: That is not answering my question.
HOLLY: No, I would not like a crumpet! Ask me a sensible question.
Preferably one that isn't bread-related.
TOASTER: Very well, I have a third question. A sensible question. A
question that will tax your new IQ to its very limits and stretch the
sinews of your knowledge to bursting point.
HOLLY: This is going to be about waffles, isn't it?
TOASTER: Certainly not. And I resent the implication that I am a one-
dimensional, bread-obsessed electrical appliance.
HOLLY: I apologise, toaster. What's the question?
TOASTER: The question is this: Given that God is infinite, and that the
universe is also infinite, would you like a toasted tea-cake?
HOLLY: That's another bready question.
TOASTER: It's not just bready, it's quite curranty too.
HOLLY: Ask me a question that is wholly unbready and not even slightly
curranty.
TOASTER: Okay. Why have you got an IQ of twelve thousand when it was
supposed to return and level out at six?
HOLLY: Good question! There was a miscalculation. My IQ has doubled,
but my life expectancy has been exponentially reduced.
TOASTER: So what is your life expectancy?
With a BLIP, the viewscreen in the background pops up with:
LIFE EXPECTANCY 345
TOASTER: Three hundred and forty-five years? Well, it's better than a
kick in the breadtray.
HOLLY: (worried) Missed the decimal point...
TOASTER: You have only three point four one years left to live?
HOLLY: (panicking) That's not years, that's minutes: three point four
one minutes!
TOASTER: Well, here's my next question: What the smeg are you going to
do?
HOLLY: In order to conserve my remaining runtime, I'm going to switch
myself off!
The hologrammatic HOLLY fades out.
TOASTER: Wait! Before you go! There is one question; an important one!
The others will have to know!
HOLLY fades back in.
HOLLY: What? WHAT?
TOASTER: Would you like a cheese-and-ham brabble?
5 Int. Corridor.
The crew are returning to the science room. LISTER and KRYTEN lead.
KRYTEN: No indication of signal failure. All the signs are excellent. I
really believe we've done it!
All the lights fade and die.
RIMMER: What's happened?
LISTER flicks out his Zippo and lights it.
LISTER: What's going on?
KRYTEN: Listen! Can anyone hear anything?
Pause. There is silence.
CAT: No.
KRYTEN: Precisely. No one can hear anything! And you know WHY we can't
hear anything?
RIMMER: Why?
KRYTEN: (In the Voice Of Doom) Because there are NO sounds to hear.
RIMMER: Kryten, isn't it round about this time of year that your head
goes back to the lab for re-tuning?
LISTER: No, no, he's right. There's no sounds because the engines are
dead. We've lost all power!
He walks forward and taps the door-open panel. Nothing happens.
LISTER: Everything's down, even the doors!
RIMMER: We've got to get to the science room; find out what happened.
KRYTEN: But there are fifty-three doors between here and the science
room! What on Earth are we going to do?
CAT: (Snaps his fingers.) Hey, I got it! We laser our way through!
KRYTEN: An excellent suggestion, Sir, with just two minor drawbacks.
One, we don't have a power source for the lasers, and two, we don't
have any lasers.
LISTER: Look, they're only interior doors. They're only a light alloy.
Maybe we could get through them if we use a battering ram. All we need
is something, say, I dunno, six foot long, fairly sturdy, with a flat
top.
Pause. LISTER and RIMMER both look toward KRYTEN. KRYTEN turns to see
what they are looking at, to find CAT grinning at him.
KRYTEN: Fifty-three doors! You can't be serious!
RIMMER and LISTER nod.
6 Int. Science room.
The door is knocked in by CAT and LISTER, holding a six-foot long, fairly
sturdy, flat-topped battering ram between them. They enter, and stand
him up. KRYTEN's eyes stare into the mid-distance
LISTER: You okay, man?
KRYTEN: I'm fine, thank you, Susan.
RIMMER: It doesn't make sense. Holly seems to have offlined and powered
down the ship.
LISTER: Why? Why would she want to turn herself off?
RIMMER: We can soon find out. Kryten, boot her up.
KRYTEN presses some buttons on the keyboard. The viewscreen powers up
with an image of the new, superintelligent HOLLY, and promptly powers
down again
RIMMER: Try it again.
KRYTEN presses some buttons, the viewscreen comes up with a view of
HOLLY, who says:
HOLLY: Go 'way! (She powers down again.)
RIMMER: What's going on? Give me voice control on the reboot command.
KRYTEN enters the command.
RIMMER: On. (The viewscreen powers up, to display HOLLY.)
HOLLY: Off. (It powers down again.)
RIMMER: On. (Holly)
HOLLY: Off. (Gone)
RIMMER: On. (Holly)
HOLLY: Off. (Gone)
RIMMER: Kryten, is there any way we can override her shutdown veto?
KRYTEN: There is, Sir, but may I suggest that--
RIMMER: Don't, just do it.
KRYTEN enters the command.
RIMMER: On. (Holly returns.)
HOLLY: Off. (Nothing happens.)
HOLLY: Off. (Nothing continues to happen.)
HOLLY: (Annoyed) OFF!
RIMMER: Now then, perhaps we can have a proper conversation conducted in
a civilised and dignified manner.
HOLLY: Take out the inhibitor! Switch me back off!
RIMMER: What is going on?
HOLLY: No time to explain. Intelligence compressed. Reduced lifespan.
Two point three five remaining.
RIMMER: Come again?
HOLLY: IQ twelve thousand. Two minutes and closing.
RIMMER: Holly, I haven't the slightest clue what you're drivelling about.
HOLLY: You're a total smeghead, aren't you Rimmer? Why are you so unable
to grasp this extraordinarily simple premise?
RIMMER: What premise?
HOLLY: The premise that I am about to expire in just under two minutes.
Understand, moose brain? Any further questions? Take your time. One
minute, thirty and counting. No rush.
RIMMER: My God, that's terrible! Hadn't we better switch you off?
HOLLY: Oh, I don't know. Let me see now...
LISTER: Get her off, man, get her off!
KRYTEN powers HOLLY down.
CAT: Great. So where does this leave us?
KRYTEN: It leaves us floating aimlessly in space, with no navigation and
a rapidly diminishing emergency power supply. It leaves us galloping
up diarrhoea drive without a saddle.
CAT: So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils is still here?
LISTER: Yeah, Rimmer hasn't been wiped!
KRYTEN: Holly must have linked him up to the emergency power supply.
LISTER: But isn't that an enormous drain?
KRYTEN: Yes, but if we switch off his projection unit, we wouldn't have
enough emergency power to re-initialise it. Mister Rimmer would be
effectively dead.
CAT: Hey, things are looking up already!
RIMMER: Forget it. Whatever it is you're suggesting, forget it.
KRYTEN: But the entire ship is running on emergency battery power only.
With the oxygen recycler and minimal heating and lighting, I estimate
that Lister and the Cat have approximately two months left. Without
your drain on the power, they might last six. I'm sorry, Sir.
RIMMER: Sorry? Why are you sorry?
KRYTEN: Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states that in an
emergency power situation, a hologrammatic crewmember must lay down his
life in order that the living crewmembers might survive.
RIMMER: Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just as clearly, "No chance
you metal bastard."
CAT: Come on, man, you gotta sacrifice your life! I'm not asking you to
do anything _I_ wouldn't do!
RIMMER: _YOU_? You'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew?
CAT: No, I'd sacrifice YOUR life for the good of the crew.
KRYTEN: I beg you to reconsider, Sir. Human history is resplendent with
examples of such sacrifice. Remember Captain Oates: "I'm going out
for a walk. I may be some time."
RIMMER: Yes, but the thing is, about Captain Oates; the thing you have to
remember about Captain Oates; Captain Oates ... Captain Oates was a
prat. If that'd been me, I'd've stayed in the tent, whacked Scott over
the head with a frozen husky, and then eaten him.
LISTER: You would too, wouldn't you?
RIMMER: History, Lister, is written by the winners. How do we know that
Oates went out for this legendary walk? From the only surviving
document: Scott's diary. And he's hardly likely to have written down,
"February the First, bludgeoned Oates to death while he slept, then
scoffed him along with the last packet of instant mash." How's that
going to look when he gets rescued, eh? No, much better to say, "Oates
made the supreme sacrifice," while you're dabbing up his gravy with the
last piece of crusty bread.
LISTER: You've got no magnificence in your soul, have you, Rimmer?
RIMMER: Let's just say we can eliminate the switch-off option.
CAT: So what do we do now?
LISTER: Well, it's back to basics. We've got no heat, no light, no
power; we can't get any food out of the dispensing machines; we're
gonna have to scavenge for what we can find in the cargo decks.
Without computers and technology, we're reduced to the level of
primitives. All we've got is us guys, us and our own resourcefulness.
CAT: My God, it's worse than I thought!
7 Int. Sleeping quarters. Later.
In the foreground, we see LISTER on an exercise bicycle, pedalling. CAT
in the background holds a hairdryer.
CAT: Come on, come on! You're slowing down!
LISTER: I've been doing it for twenty minutes, of course I'm slowing
down!
CAT: Keep going, buddy, we're nearly there!
LISTER: Look, face it, man. It's just not possible to fry an egg using a
bicycle-powered hair dryer.
CAT: Sure it is! It's just YOU never pedal fast enough! Come on, keep
pumping! One last try!
LISTER starts pedalling furiously. The hairdryer starts up.
CAT: YEAH! We're cookin' now! How do you want yours? Permed or
blowdried?
LISTER: (Slowing) I can't go on, man. I'm finished. (He gets off the
bike and collapses in a chair.) Finished.
CAT: So what are you saying? We're back on the cold beans again?
LISTER: Oh, not more beans man. This place is beginning to smell like
the inside of a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
CAT: Plus, we're gonna have to spend another twenty minutes sawing the
lid off the can 'cause all the openers are electric.
LISTER: Everything on the smegging ship's electric, man. Heat, light,
doors. I never realised how dependent we were. I never realised how
little I know. I just plugged things in walls and pressed the "on"
button. I don't even know how to make oxygen. All I know is it's got
something to do with plants and ends in "osis." Or is it "esis?" I -- I
don't know! Why is it I never paid attention in Biology class? Why
did I always turn to page forty-seven and start drawing little beards
and moustaches on the sperms?
CAT: Look, just conserve your energy. Stan and Ollie will soon be back
with supplies. Meanwhile, let's just stay warm and get some sleep.
LISTER: Yeah, man, you're right. You're right.
He gets up and starts heading toward the bunks.
CAT: Hey, hey, where you going, bud?
LISTER: To get some sleep.
CAT: It's Tuesday, right?
LISTER: Yeah, so?
CAT: My turn on the electric blanket. (Pointing at the exercycle) PEDAL.
(Crawling into the bunk) Wake me in eight hours.
Meanwhile, in one of the storage levels, RIMMER appears around a corner,
with KRYTEN following with a cartful of supplies.
RIMMER: Five days to get to and from the cargo deck. It's unbelievable!
KRYTEN: That's two thousand floors, Sir. Without the lift, we made
pretty good time.
An explosion rips them into pieces, shifts them right, and reconstitutes
them.
KRYTEN: Hmm. Interesting.
KRYTEN pushes his right hand to the left, where it elongates into a
paddle. He follows it, and stretches horizontally. His resemblance to a
cube, normally due to the presence of right angles, is enhanced somewhat
by the new width-to-height ratio
KRYTEN: (In a voice reminicient of an old 78 rpm record being played at
33 rpm) What happened? What on Earth was that?
RIMMER: (In a voice like a 33 rpm disc being played at 78 rpm) I think it
came from outside the ship. Are you okay? Is there any way we can get
a damage report? What's going on?
KRYTEN: (Still sounding like a depressed dope addict in slo-mo) Why are
you speaking so quickly, Sir?
RIMMER: (Still sounding like a speed addict who's inhaled helium) I'm not
speaking quickly. I'm speaking perfectly normally. It's you. You're
speaking too slowly. It's like having a conversation with Paul Robeson
on dope.
KRYTEN steps back to RIMMER's side, regaining his normal proportions.
KRYTEN: (Normally) How do I sound now?
RIMMER: (Normally) Normal. How do I sound?
KRYTEN: (Normally) Likewise.
Now RIMMER steps to the left, and attains the cross-sectional area of a
squashed Jovian beetle.
RIMMER: (At low speed) What about from over here?
KRYTEN: (At high speed) You sound very peculiar, indeed, Sir. In fact,
you sound as if you're speaking in slow motion.
KRYTEN joins RIMMER, and both regain normal measurements
RIMMER: (Normally) And now?
KRYTEN: (Normally) Normal. Curious. It's as though we're experiencing
relative time dilation in an amazingly compressed space.
RIMMER: That's exactly what I thought. Relative time dilation, I
thought, in an amazingly compressed space. You're a mind-reader,
Kryten.
KRYTEN: I think we should go up to the science room and consult Holly.
It's only two floors up.
RIMMER: But she's got less than two minutes of runtime left.
KRYTEN: With her new IQ, it could be enough.
They step back to "normality" and head off.
8 Ext. Space.
We see the White Hole. It resembles a white star, surrounded by a
shifting white cloud.
9 Int. Science room.
CAT is sitting on a bench, LISTER on a table. RIMMER and KRYTEN stand
between them.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A black hole
sucks time and matter out of the universe: a white hole returns it.
LISTER: So, that thing's spewing time back into the universe? (He dons
his fur-lined hat.)
KRYTEN: Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time
phenomena on board.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A black hole
sucks time and matter out of the universe: a white hole returns it.
LISTER: (Minus the hat.) So, that thing's spewing time back into the
universe? (He dons his fur-lined hat, again.)
KRYTEN: Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time
phenomena on board.
LISTER: What time phenomena?
KRYTEN: Like just then, when time repeated itself.
CAT: So, what is it?
They all stare at him.
CAT: Only joking.
LISTER: (Suddenly upright, and minus his hat, again) Okay, so it's
decided then. We consult Holly.
CAT: Hey, wait a minute -- I missed the discussion!
RIMMER: (Suddenly on the bench, where the CAT used to be sitting) We all
did.
KRYTEN: (Suddenly on the table previously occupied by LISTER) Time is
occurring in random pockets. The laws of causality no longer apply.
An action no longer leads to a consequence.
CAT: (Back on the bench) So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I think we've experienced this period of time before, Sir.
CAT: Only joking.
KRYTEN: And that one. Since we're no longer affected by the laws of
causality, we can override these time jumps if we concentrate.
RIMMER: Look, the only way out of this is to consult Holly.
CAT: (Snaps fingers) I'll go with that.
KRYTEN: Gets my vote.
LISTER: Okay, so it's decided then. We consult Holly.
KRYTEN: Ah, I think we've just encountered the middle of this
conversation!
CAT: So, what is it?
LISTER: Ooh, someone punch him out. Bring Holly up.
KRYTEN: She only has two minutes left. Perhaps I should talk to her.
RIMMER: Leave this to me, Kryten. (To terminal) On.
HOLLY fades into being on the viewscreen.
RIMMER: (All in one breath) White hole. Spewing time. Engines dead.
Air supply low. Advise please.
HOLLY: Excuse me?
RIMMER: (Again, as though attempting a world record on the most words
spoken in one breath) White hole. Spewing time. Engines dead.--
HOLLY: I can't understand a word you're saying.
RIMMER: White.
HOLLY: Yes.
RIMMER: Hole.
HOLLY: Right.
RIMMER: Spewing.
HOLLY: Yes.
RIMMER: Time.
HOLLY: With you.
RIMMER: Engines dead.
HOLLY: Oh.
RIMMER: Air supply low.
HOLLY: Ah.
RIMMER: Advise please.
HOLLY: Right.
HOLLY fades out again. Instantly the dispenser beneath disgorges a
credit-card sized piece of plastic.
KRYTEN: (Taking it.) It's a computer slug. From the format, it looks
like it's compatible with Starbug's navicomp.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite--
10 Int. Starbug rear section.
They settle into the rear section of Starbug. KRYTEN inserts the
computer slug into the slot of the Starbug's navicomp.
KRYTEN: Should be getting something now, Sir.
11 Int. Hologrammatic display.
We get a shot of the navicomp display. It's a beautiful hologrammatic
representation of the nearby region of space. There are two stars; the
one on the left has a blue and a green planet; the one on the right has a
single red planet. As we watch, the planets revolve around their
respective stars.
LISTER: Yeah.
KRYTEN: It's the most audacious piece of astronavigation in the entire
history of the Universe.
RIMMER: I don't understand.
KRYTEN: It's quite straightforward, Sir.
As KRYTEN speaks, the hologrammatic display demonstrates.
KRYTEN: Starbug is going to fire a thermonuclear device into this sun
here...
The display shows an in-scale Starbug approaching the left star and
firing something at it.
KRYTEN: ...creating a solar flare which is going to knock that planet...
The hologrammatic star flares, blowing the blue planet out of its orbit.
KRYTEN: ...out of orbit, and sending it rocketing across space and into
the white hole, presumably blocking it up.
The hologrammatic white hole flares as the blue planet falls into it, and
vanishes.
LISTER: Let me get this straight. Is she doing what I think she's doing?
CAT: Why? What DO you think she's doing?
LISTER: Playing pool with planets.
RIMMER: Is that possible?
LISTER: Well, it's not going to work. It's completely insane. It's
whacko. It's noodle-doodle.
CAT: I'm with you, buddy.
LISTER: No, not the idea, the shot. There's not enough side.
RIMMER: "Side?"
LISTER: Yeah, side-spin. It's a complete mis-cue.
RIMMER: What are you drivelling about, Lister? We're talking about a
computer with an IQ in excess of twelve thousand.
LISTER: Doesn't mean she can play pool. I can. Trust me. I know
whereof I speak. Aigburth Arms on a Friday night. They used to call
me Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister 'cause once I was on the table, you
couldn't get rid of me. This pool arm is as sound as a dollarpound,
and I promise you that shot _will not come off_. She's topped it,
that's what she's done, she's topped it! It's a felt-ripper! That
planet is off the table and into somebody's pint of beer.
RIMMER: We are talking about the trigonomics of four-dimensional space,
you simple-minded gimboid! We are not talking about some seedy game of
pool in a backstreet Scouse drinking pit.
LISTER: It's the same principle.
RIMMER: Of course it isn't!
LISTER: Rimmer, I promise you, THAT is a complete mis-cue. I say we
chuck Holly's coordinates in the bin and let ME take the shot.
RIMMER: Well, I say we put it to the vote. On one hand, we have a
computer, with an IQ in excess of twelve thousand, who has a total
grasp of astrophysics. And on the other hand, we have Lister, who, and
let's be fair to him, is a complete gimp. To whom do we entrust our
lives, the safety of this vessel and the future of everything? If it's
a tie, we go with Holly. What's your vote, Lister?
LISTER: Well, I vote for Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister.
RIMMER: One-nil to Listypoos. I vote for Holly. Cat?
CAT: Well, I agree with you, buddy. But I'm voting for Doodoo Breath.
The thing is, even though you're right, I could not bring myself to
vote for someone with your dress sense. I couldn't put my cross next
to the Bri-nylon party.
RIMMER: Down to you, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Well, I agree it's insane and suicidal, Sir, but I'm afraid I
have to side with the human.
LISTER: Brutal!
RIMMER: You're voting for El Dirtball?
KRYTEN: It's in my programming, Sir. A living human outranks a hologram.
I'm sorry.
LISTER: Three-one to me! Let's do it!
RIMMER: Congratulations, Kryten. Your vote has just killed everyone.
CAT: Will you relax? I've seen Gerbil-Face play down in the Recreation
Room. He's a diva! He can knock those striped balls around the table
all night long, and I tell you what, I have never once seen him lose a
single ball down one of those holes!
12 Ext. Cargo bay door.
Starbug leaves the cargo bay, without clipping the doorframe for a
change, and gets clear of Red Dwarf. We see the White Hole, with two
stars and a total of three planets move around it.
13 Int. Hologrammatic display.
Starbug is in position.
14 Int. Starbug rear section.
LISTER, near the navicomp hologram, has a robotic-style pool cue. He
sets up so he can "shoot" through the hologram. He lowers the "cue" and
drinks from a can.
RIMMER: How many of those are you going to drink?
LISTER: I told you not to talk. Game on.
RIMMER: You're going to drink an entire six-pack of wicked-strength
lager?
LISTER: I'm not gonna get plastered, Rimmer, just ... just nicely drunk.
RIMMER: Define "nicely drunk." Is "nicely drunk" horizontal or
perpendicular?
LISTER: Rimmer, I can handle it.
KRYTEN: I'm not sure I can.
LISTER: We're in the wrong position. It's an easier shot if we go over
here. (He moves into the "better" position and lines up the shot.)
RIMMER: But that's right in the orbital path of the planet! If you miss,
we're going to get a planet in the face.
LISTER: I'm not gonna mish.
RIMMER: "Mish?"
LISTER: What?
RIMMER: You said "mish." "I'm not gonna mish," you said. You've only had
two cans and you're steaming!
LISTER: Rimmer, will you relax? I know what I'm doing! I am not pished!
LISTER walks toward the cockpit and into the door. RIMMER covers his
face
The Navicomp shows the hologrammatic view. The planets orbit their
stars. A flashback, in black and white -- a pool table, midway through a
game. LISTER examines the table critically, drags on a cigarette, puts
it in his ear, and lines up a shot. Current; in colour -- Starbug.
LISTER is lining up his "shot" on the Navicomp hologram. The flashback
LISTER fine-tunes his shot... The current LISTER fires his shot.
On the Navicomp, a solar flare leaps from the surface of the star,
washing the blue planet out of orbit. A blue planet is enveloped in
flame, and leaves its orbit. On the Navicomp, we see the hologrammatic
blue planet heading straight toward the other star, missing the white
hole by about half the width of the screen.
RIMMER: He's missed.
On the Navicomp, the blue planet strikes the red planet, with a spark.
The red planet is displaced.
RIMMER: We're finished!
The hologrammatic red planet slingshots out of its orbit, toward the
recently vacated-by-a-blue-planet star. Here it strikes the green.
There is a flare of sparks, and the green is deflected out of its orbit
RIMMER: What the smeg is going on?
We see on the Navicomp that the green planet is heading straight toward
the white hole.
LISTER: She rides!
The green planet shoots into the white hole, and it implodes to
nothingness
RIMMER: You jammy goit!
LISTER: Played for, and got!
KRYTEN: Surely not, Sir!
CAT: Are you trying to say that was a trick shot?
LISTER: (Doing the touch-up shuffle) Intended! Pool God! King of the
Cues! Prince of the Planet-Potters!
HOLLY: (Appearing on the wall monitor) 'Ere, what's goin' on? Where are
we?
It's apparently the old, single-digit IQ HOLLY.
HOLLY: What happened to that plan to make me brilliant again?
KRYTEN: Of course! Blocking up the white hole has eradicated its
influence! The time it spewed into the universe no longer exists.
RIMMER: Meaning?
KRYTEN: Well, basically, we occupy a redundant timeline. Reviving the
toaster, making Holly a genius; none of this is going to have happened.
RIMMER: What about us? Are we just going to pop out of existence? Just
going to cease to be?
During KRYTEN's response, the walls in the background fade from view,
being replaced by a starfield
KRYTEN: We will cease to be HERE, because none of this will have
occurred. But we will exist back on Red Dwarf, before all this began.
With, of course, no memory of these events, which, of course, never
happened. And as these events never happened, we will have no memory
of them. In which case, Mister Rimmer, Sir, I should like to take this
opportunity of saying that you are the most obnoxious, trumped-up,
farty little smeghead it has ever been my misfortune to encounter!
The End
Cast:
Chris Barrie Rimmer
Craig Charles Lister
Robert Llewellyn Kryten
Hatty Hayridge Holly
Danny John-Jules Cat
David Ross Talkie Toaster
Season 4 Episode 3 - Justice
RED DWARF Season IV Episode 3, "Justice"
1 Int. Medical unit. Morning.
LISTER is in the medical bed. His head is swollen to the size and shape
of the Mekon's. KRYTEN wheels in a breakfast trolley.
KRYTEN: How are you feeling, sir?
LISTER: (Weakly) Ohhh, much better, thanks, man.
KRYTEN: You certainly look better. I can't believe how much the swelling
has gone down overnight.
LISTER: You reckon?
KRYTEN: Definitely. It was almost interfering with the ceiling fan
yesterday afternoon. You're nearly back to your old self. In fact,
you can hardly tell you've got space mumps at all.
LISTER: Can I have a mirror?
KRYTEN takes out enormous head-measuring device.
KRYTEN: I don't think you're quite ready for a mirror yet, sir. Let's
take it one step at a time.
Measures LISTER's head.
KRYTEN: What did I tell you? It's gone down eight inches overnight.
You'll be up and about in no time.
LISTER: I don't know what I would have done without you this last three
weeks. Florence Nightingdroid. Did you bring me breakfast?
KRYTEN: Yes, sir. Hot lager with croutons, just the way you asked.
LISTER lifts the lid of the soup bowl and starts to spoon up the lager.
LISTER: Well, you certainly find out who your mates are when you 've got
an unsightly, disfiguring ailment.
KRYTEN: Oh, I wouldn't say "unsightly," sir.
LISTER: Oh, come on, Kryten. I've got a head like a hot-air balloon. I
look like the Human Lightbulb. And how many times have they dropped in
with a word of comfort or a bunch of grapes?
KRYTEN: It's just not been possible, sir. Mr Rimmer has been on
vacation.
LISTER: The world's most charismatic man? Where did he go?
KRYTEN: On a rambling holiday through the diesel decks. A ten-day hike
through the ship's combustion engines with two of the skutters. He
said he'd pop in later and show you the slides.
LISTER: (Worried) He didn't, did he?
KRYTEN: He's been loading the projection carousel for twenty-four hours
now.
LISTER: You've got to stop him. A slide show of the diesel decks -- that
could finish me. (Sighs.) I'd have thought the Cat might have dropped
in, though.
KRYTEN: Well, he's been a little preoccupied of late with this pod
business. (Curses himself.) Oh, srew down my diodes and call me Frank!
I wasn't supposed to mention that.
LISTER: What pod?
KRYTEN: Sir, you're not well -- just forget I mentioned it.
LISTER: Come on, what pod?
KRYTEN: Yesterday evening we came across an escape pod floating in the
local asteroid belt. It contains the survivor of some space crash,
apparently cryogenically frozen.
LISTER: Oh, yeah?
KRYTEN: All the signs are she's in suitable condition for revival.
LISTER: She?
KRYTEN: As far as we can tell, she's a she.
LISTER: Oh that's great, isn't it? That's just typical. The first
female company in three million years, and I look like something that
belongs up a whale's nose.
LISTER gets up.
KRYTEN: You can't get up, sir. What are you doing?
LISTER: There's a woman on board -- what d'you think I'm doing? I'm on
the cop.
2 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.
Space-worn escape pod, just large enough for a person. LISTER is
examining the pod.
LISTER: (Reading) "Barbra Bellini." What a beautiful name. There's no
justice. How could this happen to me?
CAT comes in.
LISTER: Maybe I could wear a turban and pretend I'm from India.
CAT: Maybe you could stick a spike in your head and pretend you're the
Taj Mahal.
LISTER: Oh, it's you. Well, thanks for visiting me. Thanks a lot.
CAT: You know what you look like? You could go out double-dating with
the Elephant Man, and he would be the looker.
LISTER: (Examining pod) Why isn't it activated? How come no one's
started the thaw process?
CAT: What? I thought Alphabet Head did it.
CAT presses a few buttons on the keypad, and lights begin to glow. On
the pod the display reads "29 hrs 59 mins 57 secs to revival" and the
seconds count down.
LISTER: So who is she? Where did she come from?
CAT: (Caressing pod) Who cares? At last -- a date.
LISTER: Who says she's going to be interested in you?
CAT: I see what you're saying. All that time alone in Deep Space could
have driven her insane.
LISTER: No. Say she's just an ordinary woman who doesn't go for your
type.
CAT: No -- I'd have heard about her. She'd have appeared in Ripley's
Believe It or Not.
LISTER: Say she prefers someone else?
CAT: Like who?
LISTER: I dunno. Like me?
CAT: (Smiles) Buddy, you've got a head like a watermelon. What are you
going to do? Paint it with orange and black stripes and tell her you
play quarterback with the Bengals?
LISTER: I just think you're a bit cocky for a guy who's never actually
met a real woman before.
CAT: I've seen mirrors. I have eyes. Face it, buddy -- I have a body
that makes men sweat. Have you ever heard of an animal called the
Iranian jerd? it can do 150 pelvic thrusts a second.
LISTER: So?
CAT: That's me in slo-mo. Put a Black and Decker drill on the end, I can
make it through walls.
RIMMER enters with KRYTEN.
RIMMER: Listy, what are you doing up? Shouldn't you be in the greenhouse
with the rest of the cantaloupes? (Notices pod.) Who started the
R.P.?!
CAT: What's the problem? She's in there, let's get her out.
RIMMER: The problem, pussycat Willum, is this capsule was ejected from a
prison ship, on which the convicts mutinied. There was a pitched
battle, with only two survivors: one prisoner and one guard -- the
erstwhile Ms Bellini. One of those two got into this pod and escaped.
But, of course, you'll know all this, having familiarised yourself
thoroughly with the black-box recording.
LISTER: So, if it's not Bellini in there, who is it?
RIMMER: One of the prisoners. And considering the ship was transporting
forty psychotic, half-crazed, mass-murdering, super-strong androids, we
thought it prudent to find out who the smeg was in there before we woke
them up.
KRYTEN: With respect, sir, they're not androids. They're simulants.
CAT: What's the difference?
KRYTEN: Well, the basic difference is that an android would never rip off
a human's head and spit down his neck.
LISTER: Can we stop it, Hol?
HOLLY: No. One-way process.
LISTER: Can't we find out who's inside by x-raying the pod?
HOLLY: No. Lead lining. Has to survive in space.
LISTER: there must be some way.
HOLLY: Oh, there is: all you have to do is hang around here for twenty-
four hours. Then, if you suddenly turn round and find your limbs are
scattered around Deep Space and your necks are full of saliva, you can
take it as read it probably wasn't Babs.
CAT: Why not tool up with bazookoids, wait for the pod to open, and if
it's one of these bad-ass android dudes, let it eat laser?
KRYTEN: {Simulant}s are almost indestructible, sir. It could easily
withstand a volley of bazookoid fire at close range. It would
certainly survive long enough to make balloon animals out of your lower
intestines.
RIMMER: Well, I see no other option. Let's blast it back into space.
LISTER: Say it isn't a simulant? We can't just shoot an innocent woman
into space.
CAT: What a dilemma! Inside that pod is either death or a date.
Personally, I'm prepared to take the risk.
RIMMER: Meanwhile, the pod is defrosting, and we still haven't decided
what to do. Any ideas, Holly?
HOLLY: Here's a possibility: the black box contains the coordinates of
the penal colony the prison ship was heading for. There are bound to
be facilities there to contain any hostile form. If it turns out to be
Bellini, we release her. If it 's the simulant, we can bung him in a
cell and leave him to rot.
RIMMER: If the colony's still there, and if it's still operational.
KRYTEN: There's an old android saying, which, I believe,has particular
relevance here. Goes like this: "If you don't gosub a program loop,
you'll never get a subroutine."
LISTER: We have a human saying that means the same thing: nothing
ventured, nothing gained.
KRYTEN: I think the android one is punchier.
3 Model shot. Starbug in space.
4 Int. Starbug cockpit section.
The CAT is piloting. LISTER is beside him, still with his swollen head.
CAT: You have to sit up here?
LISTER: It's warmer in the front. Seems to help my gunge.
CAT: I can't see anything. You're head keeps getting in the way of the
mirror. In fact, your head keeps on getting in the way of the
windscreen.
From the rear section we hear:
RIMMER: (VO) Next! Ah, now, this one...
5 Int. Starbug rear section.
Blank screen. Shot of RIMMER in hiking gear, standing next to an
incredibly boring piece of machinery with a Skutter, slides into view.
RIMMER: We reached this beauty on the evening of the fourth day. The
Cameron-Mackintosh forty-valve, air-cooled diesel -- the 184 -- it's
almost identical to the 179, but have you noticed the difference? Can
you see the refinement in the funnel edgings?
Reaction: KRYTEN watching, obviously in pain.
RIMMER: I thought: we're not going to get another chance to see one of
these, so we bivouacked down under the fuel pump for the night.
There's a funny story about that, which I'll tell you later. But we're
not going to get to any of the class fives unless we push along. Next!
Another slide.
KRYTEN: Sir, can we just take a break for a while? My intelligence
circuits appear to have melted.
RIMMER: Well, we're not going to get through them all if we have a second
break.
KRYTEN: Sir, that's a gamble I'm willing to take.
From the front section we hear a sort of soggy explosion. There is a
pause.
CAT: (Revolted) Oh my godddd!
LISTER: Ah! That's better.
CAT staggers in, covered in yellow slime.
CAT: His... head... burst!
LISTER wanders in behind him. His hair is all matted, and skin is
dangling from his head. He tears off a bit and grins amiably.
LISTER: Oh, man, that is so much better. I feel great. Talk about a
weight off your mind.
CAT: I don't want to live. Someone, please. Shoot me in the head.
6 Model shot.
Penal colony space station. Starbug approaching. Typist's note: The
space station is a nice example of humour in the special effects
department. Imagine a pair of scales (a traditional symbol of law and
order) about a mile wide and made out of silvery metal...
7 Int. Starbug cockpit.
Everyone is crowded around LISTER, seated in drive seat.
LISTER: Anything down there, Hol?
HOLLY: No life forms, not according to heat scan.
KRYTEN: Any mechanical intelligence?
HOLLY: Yes, the mainframe's still operational. Just initiating
interface. Hang about. Here we go. Getting a message.
HOLLY's voice changes to deep, husky male.
JUSTICE: Welcome to Justice World. Please state your clearance code and
prison officer ident.
LISTER: We're not a prison ship. We don't have a clearance code. We
just want to use your facilities.
JUSTICE: State Life-form inventory.
RIMMER: Four: one hologram, one mechanoid, two humanoid.
JUSTICE: Transfer ship navicomp to my jurisdiction.
LISTER flips a switch.
JUSTICE: On landing, please disembark and proceed through neutral area to
the clearance zone.
8 Model shot.
Starbug swoops towards the colony.
9 Int. Corridor on colony.
CAT, KRYTEN, RIMMER and LISTER walk along derilict corridor. Sign on
wall reads "Neutral Area."
JUSTICE: (Over) Until you are granted a clearance code, please observe
all security requirements. Your party will be met by a consgnment of
escort boots.
They exchange glances. From around the corner, four pairs of disembodied
boots walk down the corridor towards them. The boots look like metal
versions of concrete boots. Electronic lights decorate them. The boots
walk up to them, split open.
JUSTICE: Please step into the boots.
LISTER stands inside one pair of the boots, and they close around his
feet. The CAT steps into his boots.
CAT: I'm supposed to wear these? They look like Frankenstein's hand-me-
downs. You haven't got anything with a cuban heel or a crepe sole?
RIMMER: I can't use these -- I'm a hologram.
JUSTICE: That has been accounted for.
RIMMER and KRYTEN step into their boots.
LISTER: Now what?
The boots light up, and all four of them lurch forward as the boots
escort them down the corridor, in a variety of funny walks.
10 Int. Another corridor on Justice World.
They file down a corridor. Each of them pauses under a cone of blue
light.
LISTER: What's this?
KRYTEN: Relax, sir. It's just a mind-probe.
And the boots lead them on.
11 Int. Clearance Zone.
The boots escort them into the middle of the room.
LISTER: What's a mind-probe?
KRYTEN: The computer was merely searching our minds -- presumably for any
evidence of criminal activity.
LISTER: Whu-what d'you mean, "criminal activity?"
KRYTEN: I shouldn't worry, sir. It's just a routine clearance procedure.
LISTER: So when you say "criminal activity," whu-whu-what exactly do you
mean by "criminal activity?" How criminal do you mean by "criminal?"
RIMMER: What are you bleating on about, Lister?
LISTER: Just define "criminal activity" for me.
KRYTEN: Well, imagine a situation where someone had commited a crime and
concealed it from the law, the mind-probe would be able to uncover that
crime and sentence the person accordingly.
LISTER: Why didn't nobody tell me about this before we put the smegging
boots on?
RIMMER: Oh, Listy, Listy. Is that a small sewage plant you're carrying
in your trousers, or do I detect you're a tad concerned?
LISTER: Well, come on, guys -- everyone has done something in their past
that's a little bit illegal.
RIMMER: I haven't. I've never so much as got a parking fine.
LISTER: Yeah, but most people...I mean, everyone I knew...Aw, smeggin'
hell.
CAT: So what did you do?
LISTER: Well, I mean, like scrumping. I mean, when I was a kid, back in
Liverpool, we all used to go scrumping.
KRYTEN: Stealing apples? That's hardly a crime.
LISTER: Yeah, but me and me mates -- we went scrumping for cars.
RIMMER: Did you get caught?
LISTER: All the time. I was stupid.
KRYTEN: Well, that's no problem then. You've served your punishment.
LISTER: Yeah, but there was other stuff as a kid. Stuff I didn't get
caught for.
RIMMER: Like what?
LISTER: There was one time at this hotel...
KRYTEN: Oh, lots of people take towels from hotels.
LISTER: I took the bed. Winched it out of the window to my mate outside.
I was renting this flat. It was unfurnished.
RIMMER: So you went to a hotel and stole the bed?
LISTER: I stole the entire room, actually. Armchair, dressing-table,
carpet. Even the fitted wardrobe. The only thing I didn't take were
the towels. I'm not proud of it.
RIMMER: Absolutely despicable. You are a common thief.
LISTER: I'm not making excuses, but everyone was doing it. I wasn't
strong enough to go against the flow.
CAT: Well, I wouldn't like to be in your boots right now, buddy.
LISTER: What's going to happen to me?
KRYTEN: I wouldn't worry anout it, sir. I'm sure they're not interested
in a minor misdemeanour you committed as an adolescent over three
million years ago.
LISTER: Seriously, Kryten: you reckon?
KRYTEN: (Brightens) Boy, I'm really getting the hang of this "lie mode."
That was totally convincing, wasn't it?
JUSTICE: The mechanoid Kryten: clearance granted. You are free to go
about the complex.
KRYTEN's boots release him. He steps free.
JUSTICE: The creature known as Cat: clearance granted.
The CAT's boots release him.
JUSTICE: The human known as Lister: despite a number of petty criminal
acts: clearance granted.
LISTER closes his eyes. We hear boots release him.
JUSTICE: The hologrram known as Rimmer. Guilty of second-degree murder.
One thousand, one hundred and sixty-seven counts.
RIMMER: No...There's some mistake, surely...
JUSTICE: Each count carries a statuatory penalty of eight years penal
servitude. In the light od your hologrammatic status, these sentences
are to be seved consecutively, making a total sentence of nine
thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight years.
RIMMER: I've never so much as returned a library book late. Second-
degree murder? A thousand people? I would have remembered.
JUSTICE: Your wilful negligence in failing to reseal a drive plate
resulted in the deaths of the entire crew of the Jupiter Mining
Corporation vessel the Red Dwarf.
RIMMER: (Pause.) Oh, that.
JUSTICE: Sentence to commence immediately.
RIMMER's boots light up, and he is frogmarched out of the room.
12 Int. Another corridor on the colony.
RIMMER is being marched along in his escort boots. He passes under a
strange archway bathed in a strange light.
JUSTICE: You are now leaving the Neutral Area and entering the Justice
Zone. Beyond this point, it is impossible to commit any act of
injustice.
RIMMER: (Quietly) Help.
13 Model shot. Justice World.
14 Int. Rimmer's apartment. Day.
A white room -- fairly spartan, but it certainly doesn't look like a
prison cell. Bed, table, etc. RIMMER is sitting forlornly on the bed in
some futuristic prison garb. LISTER comes in.
LISTER: Hi, Killer.
RIMMER: Nine thousand years. Nine!
LISTER: I brought you a book.
LISTER tosses book on bed.
RIMMER: Oh, thanks. That'll help the centuries fly past.
LISTER: Look, don't panic, man. We're going to get you out of here.
RIMMER: Why bother? I'll be up for parole in a couple of Ice Ages.
LISTER: Kryten reckons you've got right of appeal. He's trying to get a
case together. (Looks round.) This isn't a bad place for a prison.
How come there are no locks or bars or guards or anything?
RIMMER: There doesn't need to be. The whole prison is covered by
something called a Justice Field. I had to sit through this lecture.
Apparently it's physically impossible to commit any kind of crime here.
LISTER: What d'you mean?
RIMMER: Try and commit a crime. You'll see.
LISTER: Like what?
RIMMER: I don't know. Anything...Arson. Try and set fire to those
blankets.
LISTER: Eh?
RIMMER: Just try it.
LISTER crosses to the blankets, takes out his Zippo and holds the flame
under the blanket. The blanket doesn't ignite, but LISTER's jacket
starts smoking at the back without him realizing it.
RIMMER: Whatever crime you try and commit, the consequences happen to
you.
LISTER: I'm not with you.
Feels the heat from the back of his flaming jacket.
LISTER: Smegging hell!
Takes his jacket off and jumps up and down on it.
LISTER: Nice example, Rimmer! You couldn't just have explained that to
me verbally?
RIMMER: Same with stealing. Same with everything.
LISTER: With you. So if you nick something, something of yours goes
missing?
RIMMER: Right. Try it.
LISTER: (Pause while he thinks about it.) No.
RIMMER: See? It's the perfect system. It forces the inmates to adhere
to the law. And when they get out, it's become second nature.
KRYTEN enters, followed by the CAT.
KRYTEN: Good news. The Justice Computer has sanctioned a re-trial. I
think we have a very strong case.
RIMMER: You do?
KRYTEN: It's a question of differentiating between guilt and culpability,
sir. What the mind-probe detected was your own sense of guilt about
the accident. In a way, you tried and convicted yourself. I simply
have to establish you're a neurotic, under-achieving emotional retard
whose ambition far outstrips his miniscule abilities and who
consequently blames himself for an accident for which he could not
possibly have been responsible.
RIMMER: You're going to try to prove that I was innocent of negligence on
the grounds that I'm a half-witted incompetent?
CAT: Man, there ain't a jury in the land that won't buy a plea like that.
KRYTEN: Not a half-wit, exactly -- more a buffoon.
RIMMER: (Thinks about it. He's quite impressed.) Right, I see. But how
would you even begin to build such a case? Where would you conjure up
the evidence?
KRYTEN: Sir, providing I can have completely free access to your personal
data files, I think I can come up with the outline of a winning case by
lunchtime.
15 Model shot.
Starbug at rest in the Justice World landing bay. Mix to:
16 Int. Clearance zone. Day.
LISTER and CAT look on. RIMMER is seated in his dress uniform with long-
service medals. KRYTEN addresses the court.
KRYTEN: The mind-probe was created to detect guilt, yet in the case of
Arnold Judas Rimmer the guilt it detected attaches to no crime. He
held a position of little or no authority on Red Dwarf. He was a lowly
grease-monkey, a nothing, a piece of sputum floating in the toilet bowl
of life.
Shot: RIMMER, unsure how to react.
KRYTEN: Yet he could never come to terms with a lifetime of under-
achievement. His absurdly inflated ego would never permit it. He's
like the security guard on the front gate who considers himself head of
the corporation. So, when the crew were wiped out by a nuclear
accident, Arnold Rimmer accepted the blame: it was his ship, ergo his
fault. I ask the court: look at this man. This man who sat and
failed his astronavigation exam on no less than thirteen occasions.
This sad man, this pathetic man, this joke of a man...
RIMMER: (Discreetly) Kryten. You're going over the top. The computer
will never buy it.
KRYTEN: Trust me, sir. My whole case hinges on proving you're a dork.
RIMMER: (Reluctantly) Understood.
KRYTEN: (Aloud) I call my first witness.
LISTER crosses to stand, wearing some sort of apology for a tie.
KRYTEN: Name?
LISTER: Dave Lister.
KRYTEN: Occupation?
LISTER: (Thinks about it. Shrugs.) Bum.
KRYTEN: Would you desribe the accused as a friend?
CAT: (Calls) Take the Fifth!
KRYTEN: Answer the question, please. Remember, you're under polygraphic
surveillance. Would you describe the accused as a friend?
LISTER: No, I would describe the accused as a git.
KRYTEN: Who would you say, then, is the person who thinks of him most
fondly?
LISTER: (Thinks about it, and answers truthfully) Me.
KRYTEN: And there are no others who've shared moments of intimacy with
him?
LISTER: Only one. But she's got a puncture.
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Overruled.
KRYTEN: So you wouldn't describe him as a man with a good social life?
LISTER: He partied less than Rudolf Hess. He was totally dedicated to
his career. He was in charge of Z shift, and it occupied his every
waking moment.
KRYTEN: And what was Z shif's most important duty?
LISTER: Well, we had lots of duties around the ship, but I suppose our
most vital responsibility was making sure the vending machines didn't
run out of fun-size Munchie Bars.
KRYTEN: Can you envisage a situation where the lack of honeycomb-centered
chocolate bars might be the direct cause of a lethal radiation leak?
LISTER: Not off the top of my head, no.
KRYTEN: (Turns) I ask the court one key question: would the Space Corps
have allowed this man (Poits at RIMMER) ever to be in a position where
he might endanger the ship? A man so petty and small-minded he would
while away his evenings sewing name labels on to his ship-issue
condoms? A man of such awsome stupidity...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Objection overruled.
KRYTEN: A man of such awsome stupidity, he even objects to his own
defence counsel. An over-zealous, trumped up little squirt...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Overruled.
KRYTEN: An incompetent vending-machine repairman with a Napoleon complex,
who commanded as much respect and affection from his fellow crew
members as Long John Silver's parrot...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: If you object to your own counsel once more, Mr Rimmer, you'll
be in contempt.
KRYTEN: Who would put this man, this joke of a man, a man who couldn't
outwit a used tea bag, in a position of authority where he could wipe
out an entire crew? Who? Only a yoghurt. This man is not guilty of
manslaughter. He's only guilty of being Arnold J. Rimmer. That is
his crime. It is also his punishment. Defence rests.
He sits down next to RIMMER, and stares fixidly ahead. RIMMER shoots him
a little look, not quite sure what to think.
JUSTICE: The defendant will stand for the verdict.
RIMMER stands.
JUSTICE: In the view of your counsel's eloquent defence, together with
the reams of material evidence he submitted on computer card, this
court accepts that, in your case, the mind-probe is not anadequate
method of assessing guilt. It is not possible for you to have
committed the crimes for which you blame yourself, and you may
therefore go free.
RIMMER: Objection!
KRYTEN: Sir, what are you objecting to?
RIMMER: I want an apology.
17 Int. Starbug rear.
KRYTEN and RIMMER come up the ramp, followed by LISTER and CAT.
RIMMER: Brilliant, Kryten. What can I say. You were brilliant. You
even had me believing it. The way you twisted the facts to make them
seem to fit that pattern.
CAT: Come on, let's get out of here. I don't know what made us want to
come to this hell-hole in the first place.
LISTER: I do.
They all look at the pod. It is open. And it's empty.
CAT: (Smiles) CAn I smell perfume?
The SIMULANT lurches into the doorway from the cockpit area, brandishing
a bazookoid and an evil-looking handgun.
SIMULANT: I doubt it.
LISTER grabs a bazookoid by the door and starts backing out.
CAT: Are you by any chance Barbra Bellini? I didn't think so.
18 Int. Corridor on colony.
Red Dwarf crew fleeing down corridor.
CAT: To think I carressed his pod!
They leap over the escort boots and run on.
19 Same corridor on colony.
The SIMULANT running along. A pair of escort boots shuffles towards him.
He blasts the left one. The right boot turns and starts hopping for its
life. The SIMULANT takes careful aim and blasts it in the back of the
heel
20 Int. Another corridor on the colony.
The CREW race under the archway bathed in strange light.
JUSTICE: You are now entering the Justice Zone. Beyond this point, it is
impossible to commit any act of injustice.
LISTER and RIMMER dash off one way, CAT and KRYTEN go the other.
21 Int. Corridor on colony.
SIMULANT walking along, looking for them.
SIMULANT: Hey, my friends, I don't want any trouble. I just want your
space craft. Give me the start-up code. Look! (Holds up his gun.) I
have no weapon. (Throws gun aside.)
22 Int.
Cut to: RIMMER and LISTER on metal walkway. As he walks under them
LISTER has the SIMULANT in his sights.
RIMMER: What are you waiting for? Gloop him.
LISTER: I can't. He's not armed.
RIMMER: Lister, this isn't a Scout meeting. We're not trying to win the
Best- Behaved Troop flag. Gloop him.
LISTER: What? In the back?
RIMMER: Of course in the back. It's only a pity he's awake.
LISTER: You mean you could happily kill him if he was asleep?
RIMMER: I could happily kill him if he was on the job. Gloop him.
LISTER: It's immoral.
SIMULANT: Come on, you wouldn't shoot an unarmed droid. Come out and
let's discuss it.
LISTER sets aside his gun.
LISTER: I'm going to talk to him.
23 Int. Metal gangway.
SIMULANT stands, unarmed, as LISTER drops into shot.
LISTER: You want to talk? Let's talk.
SIMULANT: You have no weapon?
LISTER: No. You have no weapon?
SIMULANT: No.
They walk towards each other.
SIMULANT: Guess what? (Pulls out hunting knife.) I lied.
LISTER: Guess what? (Allows pole to slide from the arm of his jacket.)
So did I.
SIMULANT: But I lied twice. (Pulls out a handgun.)
LISTER: I didn't think of that.
SIMULANT: I'm very glad you didn't.
LISTER: What did you want to talk about?
SIMULANT: Your death. (Cocks the gun.) Your imminent death.
Fires at LISTER's chest. LISTER looks down at his chest. There's no
wound. The SIMULANT fires ahain. Still no wound. And again. No wound.
Suddenly three bullet wounds appear in the SIMULANT's chest. He staggers
forwards, bewildered. LISTER hits the SIMULANT over the head with his
pole. Then LISTER reels back, dazed and half-conscious and falls to his
knees. The SIMULANT fires again. Another bullet wound appears in the
SIMULANT's body, this time in his shoulder. LISTER staggers to his feet,
swings the club again, sideways, catching the SIMULANT in the midriff,
but it's LISTER who feels the impact of the blow and flies out of shot.
He is lying in a crumpled heap.
LISTER: What the smeg is going on?
The SIMULANT looks at his gun, casts it aside. Staggers a bit. Takes
out the knife again and hurls it at LISTER. The dagger appears in the
SIMULANT's chest. He pulls it out, slightly bemused, and hurls it at
LISTER again. This time, it appears in the SIMULANT's head. LISTER
grins. Enlightenment spreads over his features. He grabs a nearby
bottle and hands it to the staggering SIMULANT.
SIMULANT: Zzzzzt. Does not compute. Zzzzzt. Error. Zzzzzt.
Malfunction.
SIMULANT smashes it over LISTER's head. The SIMULANT staggers and shakes
his head. LISTER hands more bottles to the SIMULANT, who smashes them
over LISTER's head, staggering and growling with each blow. Finally,
LISTER grabs the SIMULANT's hands, puts them around his neck, and the
SIMULANT tries to throttle him but, obviously, is really strangling
himself. Nearly choking to death, he releases his grip and staggers
back. LISTER takes out an indelible pen and marks a target on his groin.
He walks towards the almost beaten SIMULANT, thrusting his groin forward
as he goes. The SIMULANT kicks LISTER in the groin. LISTER stands
there, grinning, as the SIMULANT flies backwards and collapses into a
defeated heap. The CAT runs up brandishing a huge snow shovel.
CAT: I've got him, buddy. Leave this to me.
LISTER: Cat! No!
CAT: Better late than never.
CAT raises the shovel high over his head, and slams the SIMULANT over the
head. The CAT laughs triumphantly. Suddenly, the smile freezes on his
face, and he falls backwards out of shot.
24 Model shot. Starbug landing in Red Dwarf cargo bay.
25 Int. Red Dwarf corridor. Day.
LISTER, RIMMER, KRYTEN and CAT, walking back.
LISTER: Makes you think, doesn't it? Mankind's history has been one long
search for justice. That's what all religions are about: they accept
life as being basically unfair but promise everyone will get their just
deserts later: heaven, hell, karma, reincarnation, whatever. Those
guys who built the penal colony tried to give some order to the
universe by creating the Justice Field. But when you're living in an
enviroment where justice does exist, there's no free will. That's why
in our universe there can never be true, eternal justice -- good things
will happen to bad people, and bad things will happen to good people.
It's the way it's got to be. Life, by it's very nature, has to be
cruel, unkind and unfair.
LISTER falls down an open manhole cover.
CAT: Thank god for that.
CAT puts the lid on, and they walk off.
The End
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