Red Dwarf s05e02 Episode Script
The Inquisitor
("RED DWARF" THEME) (BOOMING VOICE) Thomas Allman.
Thomas Allman, you have been found unworthy of having existed.
Mother? Your life and all memory of you will be wiped from history.
The void you occupied in the space-time continuum will be allocated to a person who was never given the gift of life.
May they spend their time more wisely.
(WHOOSH) Please.
Why me? There must be others who've lived worthless lives.
All will be judged.
It is complete.
All that remains is to delete your physical form.
Sorry to disturb you, sir.
Reality control.
Coffee, sir.
Double caffeinated, quadruple sugar.
- Nice one.
- Ah, Virgil's "Aeneid".
Oh, the epic tale of Agamemnon's pursuit of Helen of Troy, the classic work by the greatest Latin poet who ever lived.
- Yeah, it's the comic book version.
- Really? It's good, man.
Absolutely full of history.
"Zap! Pow! Ker-splat! Die in bed, you Trojan pig-dog! Gnargh! Ker-pow!" I see they've remained faithful to the original text.
Don't discourage him.
It's the only thing he's read that doesn't have lift-up flaps.
I dunno though.
This wooden horse malarkey, I'm not buyin' that.
It's the most famous military manoeuvre in history.
The Greeks have been camped outside Troy, ker-powing and ker-splatting the Trojans for almost a decade, yeah? - So? - So suddenly, one morning, they're gone.
Outside the city walls, they've left this gift, this tribute to their valiant foes, a huge wooden horse, just large enough to happily contain and still leave adequate room for toilet facilities? Not one Trojan goes, "That's a bit of a funny pressie.
"What's wrong with socks and aftershave?" No, they just wheel it in and go for an early night.
People that stupid deserve to be ker-powed and ker-splatted in their beds.
The joke is that from this, we derive the phrase "beware of Greeks bearing gifts", when it would be more logical to say, "Beware of Trojans, they're complete smegheads.
" Well, thank you, AJP Taylor.
- (THUD) - What was that? - That's strange.
We've changed course.
- Are you sure, Holly? - There's no course change programmed.
- (THUD) And again.
Mark one eight zero - a complete turn.
- We're heading back to Red Dwarf.
- Give me manual.
- Agh! - We're locked out! - Something's controlling the craft.
- Holly, any traffic around? - Nothing on the local scan.
- There must be (BOOMING VOICE) I am in possession of the human Lister.
Do not resist me.
What happened to him? His voice finally break? - Who are you? - Tremble at my name.
I am the Inquisitor.
- The Inquisitor? - Your vessel is under my control.
It will return you to your mother ship to face judgement.
You will each present a case to justify your existence.
If you fail, you will be deleted.
- Are you OK, sir? - Yeah.
God, I think so.
- A little bit shaky.
- We should run you through the medi-scan.
Yeah, OK.
So, Kryten, you've heard of this Inquisitor? Only as a myth, a dark fable, a horror tale, told across the flickering embers of a midnight fire wherever hardened space dogs gather to drink fermented vegetable products and compete in tales of blood-chilling terror.
A simple "yes" would have sufficed.
- So who is he? - What's his beef? Well, the legend tells of a droid, a self-repairing simulant, who survives till the end of eternity, to the end of time itself.
After millions of years alone, he finally reaches the conclusion that there is no God, no afterlife, and the only purpose of existence is to lead a worthwhile life.
And so the droid constructs a time machine and roams eternity, visiting every single soul in history and assessing each one.
He erases those who wasted their lives and replaces them with those that never had a chance of life, the unfertilised eggs, the sperms that never made it.
That is the Inquisitor.
He prunes away the wastrels, expunges the wretched and deletes the worthless.
We're in big trouble.
Who's to say what's worthless? Oh, please! Look in the mirror.
Read your entry in "Who's Nobody".
No, I mean it.
Who's to say what's worthwhile? Well, lying on your bunk reading "What Bike" and eating Sugar Puff sandwiches for eight hours every day is unlikely to qualify.
So because I haven't written any symphonies or painted the Sistine Chapel, I'm prunable? No, because you're a totally worthless, unwashed space bum, you're prunable.
Precisely.
The criterion is not fame, it is simply to have lived a worthwhile life.
Why did no one mention this before? If I'd been told that the object was to lead a worthwhile life, I could have done something about it.
All those charity telethons when I used to pledge donations, I would have given them MY credit card number.
Sir, you don't have to be a philanthropist, you simply have to seize the gift of life - Oh, God.
-.
.
make a contribution - Oh, God.
-.
.
no matter how small.
You simply have to have lead a life that wasn't totally egocentric and self-serving.
You're doing this on purpose.
- I'm just trying to make you feel better.
- Shut up, then! Hang on.
Why should we take any notice of some half-crazed rogue robot who's appointed himself judge and jury to humanity? Why should we kowtow to his judgement? Because I have the power to snap your body in two like a dry reed! Good answer, man! Good answer! - So where is he? - See me now and tremble! The inquisition begins.
Prove to me you are worthy of the honour of life or drink deeply from the well of nothingness for all eternity.
I hate these "either/or" questions.
Who is to be first? Lister! The hologram.
You shall be first.
(SQUEAKS) Pardon? Sorry.
You have been granted the greatest gift of all - the gift of life.
Tell me, what you have done to deserve this superlative good fortune? Well, I say this with the highest respect, but what gives you the right to ask - no, actually, demand - that answer of me, Your Magnificence? All must answer to the Inquisitor! How do I know I'll get a fair hearing? Because, like all who stand before the Inquisitor, your judge shall be (CHEERILY).
.
yourself! - Oh, smeg.
- "Oh, smeg" indeed, matey.
Everyone is judged by their own self? It's a bit metaphysical, I know, but it's the only fair way.
Now, then.
Justify yourself.
Well, first I - Liar.
- I've done good things.
- No, you haven't.
- In my heart, I tried to do good things.
- No, you didn't.
- Look, I've tried to lead a good life.
When? Ah! What's that? It's the Archangel Gabriel! Well, that's me converted! Hallelujah! You are a slimy, despicable, rat-hearted, green discharge of a man, aren't you? Wellsort of, yes.
So, then, justify yourself.
What else could I have been? My father was a half-crazed military failure, my mother was a bitch-queen from hell.
My brothers had looks and talent.
What did I have? Unmanageable hair and ingrowing toenails.
Yes, I admit I'm nothing.
But from what I started with, nothing is up.
Hi, buddy.
This is your judgement day, bud.
I gotta be cruel.
No favours.
I'm hearing you on FM.
I have to ask you the question - justify your existence.
What contribution have you made? I have given pleasure to the world because I have such a beautiful ass.
- Well, that's true.
- Can I go now? - That's your case? - You need more?! Some might say that's a shallow argument.
Some might say I'm a shallow guy.
But a shallow guy with a great ass.
- Sometimes you astonish even me.
- Thank you.
Well, Kryten, justify yourself.
I'm not sure I can.
Surely your life is replete with good works.
Few individuals have lived a more selfless life.
But I am programmed to live unselfishly.
Any good work comes not out of fine motives, but as a result of binary commands I am compelled to obey.
Well, then, how can any mechanical justify himself? Only if he attempted to break his programming and conduct his life according to values arrived at independently.
Your argument invites deletion.
- The rules are yours.
- Do you wish to be erased? I am programmed not to wish for anything.
I serve.
In a human, this behaviour might be considered stubborn.
But I am not human, and neither are you.
And it is not our place to judge them.
I wonder why you do? (BOOMING VOICE) Enough.
Wellget out of this one, smeghead.
- What you talkin' about? - You know what you could've done, - what you could've become.
- So? You've got brains, man.
Brains you've never used.
- So? - So justify yourself.
Spin on it! The inquisition is over.
I have reached my verdict.
Two ofyou have failed to become that which you might so easily have been.
You have lived without merit, and so not lived at all.
(WHOOSH) - You scum! You've wiped them out! - Sir He's crazy, Kryten.
He's erased Cat and Rimmer.
- They are quite safe.
- Sir I'm afraid we are to be erased.
Ah.
The Cat has lead a more worthwhile life than us? He is a shallow and selfish creature, as is the hologram.
By their own low standards, they have acquitted themselves.
Whereas you and the mechanoid could have been so much more.
(WHOOSH) - What's this? - We are being surgically removed from time.
Every memory of us is being dissolved.
Our lives are being undone.
It is complete.
The time-lines are knitted.
Causality is healed.
All that remains is to remove your physical forms from existence.
Well, if you've got some amazing plan up your sleeve, Kryten, now's the time to mention it.
No plan, sir.
No sleeves.
- (WHOOSH) - Perfect.
Now, what did I do next? (BUZZING) (INQUISITOR WAILS) Now, hurry! Take the gauntlet and go! - What is goin' on? - No time to explain.
I've come from the future to rescue you.
Hurry! What about meI mean youI mean us? - I'm afraid we get killed.
- Killed? How? While I'm standing here explaining this, the Inquisitor jumps me from behind.
You can't save me.
Before you reach the storage bay, you must have decoded the gauntlet's controls.
- How? Give us a clue? - I cannot explain.
For some bizarre reason, my final words are "enig".
- "Enig"? - Yes.
Enig - Come on, sir.
- He's just killed you! Sir, we have to go! - (BLEEP) - You are not registered as personnel.
- State your name and clearance code.
- It's us, Hol! - State your name and clearance code.
- Lister, D, 000-169.
I have no record of your palm print.
Intruder alert! - Initiating override.
- State your name and clearance code.
Logon name, Kryten.
Registration code, Additional 001.
I have no record of your CPU ident.
- (SIREN SOUNDS) - We don't exist any more.
- (YELLS) - Tear gas! (WAILS) Oh, thank God it's you guys.
- Move an eyebrow and you're dog meat.
- It's us! - Who are you? What do you want? - Rimmer, it's me.
- How do you know my name? - It's on your uniform.
Sir, they've never met us.
We are between realities.
- They have no memory of us.
- I'll ask once more.
What do you want? Yo, we're not the enemy.
There's a guy here somewhere obliterating people from history.
- We used to be your shipmates.
- Only we've forgotten you (!) - Yeah.
- Well, I'm convinced (!) - Rimmer, I know you.
- Well, if you do, you'll know I'm the kind of hardened ex-marine type guy you do not trifle with.
No, you're not! - For the last time - Fiona Barrington.
Fifteen years old.
You got off with her in your Dad's greenhouse.
You thought you got lucky but it turned out that you had your hand in warm compost.
- How could I know that? - Not true.
You got three brothers.
You're really mean.
You're a tremendous physical coward.
You spent an afternoon with the Samaritans and four people committed suicide.
Your middle name's Judas.
You say it's Jonathan.
You sign all your official letters AJ Rimmer, BSc.
BSc stands for Bronze Swimming Certificate.
You're a cheating, weaselly, lowlife scumbucket with all the charm and social grace of a pubic louse.
Gotta admit, bud.
He's got a handle on you there.
Sirs, you've got to help us.
The Inquisitor will obliterate us.
Who the smeg are these guys, Rimmer? Never mind that.
Who the smeg are you? I the smeg am Lister.
Of course.
An alternative you.
A David Lister who never got a chance to exist.
So we're kind ofsperms-in-law? - Yes, sir.
- Delicately put, sir.
- So what do we do with them? - Waste them.
Rimmer, for smeg's sake! - He's such a dork.
- You're tellin' me? They come here with some fairy story, chained together like Sidney Poitier and Tony Curtis.
Let's open the door to oblivion for them.
- Rimmer, no one's killing no one.
- Yeah, right.
They've come from some freaky alternative dimension to hijack this ship and doooh, weird things to us.
I think we should stick them in the brig.
I hate to say it, but TransAm wheel arch nostrils is right.
- Get moving.
- What did you call me? - Look, you know the score.
- Why do I know the score? Because you're me.
We're shot from the same gun barrel.
Only difference is, one did breast stroke, one did crawl.
What are you trying to say? - I'm saying - (CRASH) That's him, guys! This way! - Come on! Let's go! - Let's go back! Oh, my God! Hang on a minute.
I can use this.
Come on! Go! If we got down to the transport decks, we could nick one of the Starbugs.
Uh-oh.
A door.
Let's use an air vent.
- No need.
- Sir? Look, I'm gonna do something that's totally gross.
Turn around.
- What? - Trust me, you don't wanna know.
(BLEEPS AND HUMS) Logically, sir, there is only one way you could have opened that door.
I feel quite nauseous.
- Where is it? - Where's what? Oh, sir, you've got it in your jacket! - I got us out of the hold, didn't I? - Sir, you are a sick, sick person.
- How can you conceive of such an idea? - Shut up or I'll beat you with the wet end! Sir, if mechanoids could barf, I'd be onto my fifth bag by now.
- You're a sick person! - Come on! What's the point in trying to get out of this? We already know we fail.
Not so.
We only know that I die.
If my gambit results in your safety, it will be a move well made.
For myself, death holds no fear.
- Oh, yeah? - Sir, I am programmed to relinquish my life.
That's why the 4000 Series was voted "Android of the Year" five years running.
I have as much interest in saving my own life as a chronically depressed lemming.
That's not true, is it? Not any more.
And it's all because of me.
It's my fault.
I made you break your programming.
I taught you to lie, to make your own decisions.
I made you moremore human.
I gave you a life to lose.
Sir, with the greatest respect, that is complete shash.
Kryten, I know when you're lying.
Your right foot jiggles.
- It's involuntary.
- Nonsense.
I'm not afraid to die.
For me, death holds no fear.
I believe in Silicon Heaven.
I believe in an afterlife for androids! - Haven't you broken those damn manacles?! - Kryten! - I won't let it happen.
- Cause and effect, sir.
It HAS happened.
There's nothing we can do except save your life.
I think this is a variant of the Enigma decoding system.
- Enigma.
"Enig" - Enigma.
- "Enig".
Of course.
My last words.
Anyway, if this works, it should age those manacles by half a million years.
- If it doesn't work? - It'll wipe out the universe.
- Phew! - What now? Well, now WE have the power.
(CLUNK) OK, we don't know you, but we know we wanna be on your side.
He killed our crew mates.
He's a monster.
- I'm the Cat, this is Rimmer.
- Yeah.
Lister.
Kryten.
Look, I'm not in love with the idea of pitching in with you, but needs must.
You really don't remember me, do you? How I used to get on your pecks.
Like I'd be trimming me toenails with your electric meat carver, and you'd go spare.
Sir, we must get down to the storage bay.
Remember my message.
That is where we meet the Inquisitor for the final confrontation.
That's your plan? Go and face him? Nice plan (!) Shall I paint a bull's-eye on my face? Listen, Kryten.
I've come up with something.
- Yes, sir? - I'm gonna use my brains for once.
Considering the circumstances, sir, do you really believe that's wise? - Give me the gauntlet.
- You don't understand it.
- You'll have to shout instructions.
- Why don't I wear it? - You can't, Kryten.
- Why not? You're programmed not to kill.
So, the mortals seek to challenge my mastery.
(SWOOSH) Kryten, I can't work this thing.
Gamma, delta, one, four, five.
- Smeg.
You youthed me.
- The sport begins.
(SWOOSH) Now what the smeg have you done? Excuse me.
Could I distract you for a second? Huh? (SWOOSH) "Excuse me.
Could I distract you for a second"?! It was the best I could ad-lib at the time, sir.
- He got the Cat and Rimmer, though.
- I know.
Look, I've got to go back in time and sacrifice myself in order that we can get into this mess in the first place.
Yeah, sure.
All in all, today's been a bit of a bummer, sir.
- How long before he unfreezes? Ten minutes? - No.
8.
4.
- We'd better be right, Kryten.
- I know.
Gauntlets.
Now, what do I say when I pop up behind the Inquisitor? - Er, "Perfect.
Now what do I" - That's it.
I've got it.
I've got it.
OK, big fella.
It's dangling time.
- Welcome back on-line.
- What are you doing? One way or the other, you killed a lot of my friends this afternoon.
In fact, you may never get on my good side again.
- Oops.
- So now you're going to kill me? I don't think so.
You're a fat little human who doesn't have the balls.
Dumb talk for a guy who's dangling over a chasm.
I've seen inside your heart.
You don't have it in you.
Oh, yeah? Bet your life? - I never intended to kill you.
- Oh, no? No.
I intended to save your life.
Save my life? Why? 'Cause if I save your life, and you erase me, I won't be there to save your life, and you'll die.
Chew on that, pal.
You're giving me my gauntlet back? I'm all right.
You can't touch me.
You might've killed the others, but I'm OK.
Oh, just one thing.
If I erase you from history, you will never have existed to kill me in the first place.
- That's a point.
- So, in fact, I can erase you quite safely.
Yeah.
Yeah! It's the old backfiring time gauntlet trick.
You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to oblivion.
But you can't! All my glorious work will be undone! (WHOOSH) - Oh, it worked! - It worked? - You're a genius.
- It was your scheme, sir.
- I simply re-programmed the gauntlet.
- So what now? (WHOOSH) Well, we wait for the time-space continuum to reorder itself.
(WHOOSH) I believe this is an appropriate juncture to give me five, sir.
Give you five? I can do better than that.
I can give you fifteen.
# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere # I'm all alone, more or less # Let me fly far away from here # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun # I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose # Drinking fresh mango juice # Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun #
Thomas Allman, you have been found unworthy of having existed.
Mother? Your life and all memory of you will be wiped from history.
The void you occupied in the space-time continuum will be allocated to a person who was never given the gift of life.
May they spend their time more wisely.
(WHOOSH) Please.
Why me? There must be others who've lived worthless lives.
All will be judged.
It is complete.
All that remains is to delete your physical form.
Sorry to disturb you, sir.
Reality control.
Coffee, sir.
Double caffeinated, quadruple sugar.
- Nice one.
- Ah, Virgil's "Aeneid".
Oh, the epic tale of Agamemnon's pursuit of Helen of Troy, the classic work by the greatest Latin poet who ever lived.
- Yeah, it's the comic book version.
- Really? It's good, man.
Absolutely full of history.
"Zap! Pow! Ker-splat! Die in bed, you Trojan pig-dog! Gnargh! Ker-pow!" I see they've remained faithful to the original text.
Don't discourage him.
It's the only thing he's read that doesn't have lift-up flaps.
I dunno though.
This wooden horse malarkey, I'm not buyin' that.
It's the most famous military manoeuvre in history.
The Greeks have been camped outside Troy, ker-powing and ker-splatting the Trojans for almost a decade, yeah? - So? - So suddenly, one morning, they're gone.
Outside the city walls, they've left this gift, this tribute to their valiant foes, a huge wooden horse, just large enough to happily contain and still leave adequate room for toilet facilities? Not one Trojan goes, "That's a bit of a funny pressie.
"What's wrong with socks and aftershave?" No, they just wheel it in and go for an early night.
People that stupid deserve to be ker-powed and ker-splatted in their beds.
The joke is that from this, we derive the phrase "beware of Greeks bearing gifts", when it would be more logical to say, "Beware of Trojans, they're complete smegheads.
" Well, thank you, AJP Taylor.
- (THUD) - What was that? - That's strange.
We've changed course.
- Are you sure, Holly? - There's no course change programmed.
- (THUD) And again.
Mark one eight zero - a complete turn.
- We're heading back to Red Dwarf.
- Give me manual.
- Agh! - We're locked out! - Something's controlling the craft.
- Holly, any traffic around? - Nothing on the local scan.
- There must be (BOOMING VOICE) I am in possession of the human Lister.
Do not resist me.
What happened to him? His voice finally break? - Who are you? - Tremble at my name.
I am the Inquisitor.
- The Inquisitor? - Your vessel is under my control.
It will return you to your mother ship to face judgement.
You will each present a case to justify your existence.
If you fail, you will be deleted.
- Are you OK, sir? - Yeah.
God, I think so.
- A little bit shaky.
- We should run you through the medi-scan.
Yeah, OK.
So, Kryten, you've heard of this Inquisitor? Only as a myth, a dark fable, a horror tale, told across the flickering embers of a midnight fire wherever hardened space dogs gather to drink fermented vegetable products and compete in tales of blood-chilling terror.
A simple "yes" would have sufficed.
- So who is he? - What's his beef? Well, the legend tells of a droid, a self-repairing simulant, who survives till the end of eternity, to the end of time itself.
After millions of years alone, he finally reaches the conclusion that there is no God, no afterlife, and the only purpose of existence is to lead a worthwhile life.
And so the droid constructs a time machine and roams eternity, visiting every single soul in history and assessing each one.
He erases those who wasted their lives and replaces them with those that never had a chance of life, the unfertilised eggs, the sperms that never made it.
That is the Inquisitor.
He prunes away the wastrels, expunges the wretched and deletes the worthless.
We're in big trouble.
Who's to say what's worthless? Oh, please! Look in the mirror.
Read your entry in "Who's Nobody".
No, I mean it.
Who's to say what's worthwhile? Well, lying on your bunk reading "What Bike" and eating Sugar Puff sandwiches for eight hours every day is unlikely to qualify.
So because I haven't written any symphonies or painted the Sistine Chapel, I'm prunable? No, because you're a totally worthless, unwashed space bum, you're prunable.
Precisely.
The criterion is not fame, it is simply to have lived a worthwhile life.
Why did no one mention this before? If I'd been told that the object was to lead a worthwhile life, I could have done something about it.
All those charity telethons when I used to pledge donations, I would have given them MY credit card number.
Sir, you don't have to be a philanthropist, you simply have to seize the gift of life - Oh, God.
-.
.
make a contribution - Oh, God.
-.
.
no matter how small.
You simply have to have lead a life that wasn't totally egocentric and self-serving.
You're doing this on purpose.
- I'm just trying to make you feel better.
- Shut up, then! Hang on.
Why should we take any notice of some half-crazed rogue robot who's appointed himself judge and jury to humanity? Why should we kowtow to his judgement? Because I have the power to snap your body in two like a dry reed! Good answer, man! Good answer! - So where is he? - See me now and tremble! The inquisition begins.
Prove to me you are worthy of the honour of life or drink deeply from the well of nothingness for all eternity.
I hate these "either/or" questions.
Who is to be first? Lister! The hologram.
You shall be first.
(SQUEAKS) Pardon? Sorry.
You have been granted the greatest gift of all - the gift of life.
Tell me, what you have done to deserve this superlative good fortune? Well, I say this with the highest respect, but what gives you the right to ask - no, actually, demand - that answer of me, Your Magnificence? All must answer to the Inquisitor! How do I know I'll get a fair hearing? Because, like all who stand before the Inquisitor, your judge shall be (CHEERILY).
.
yourself! - Oh, smeg.
- "Oh, smeg" indeed, matey.
Everyone is judged by their own self? It's a bit metaphysical, I know, but it's the only fair way.
Now, then.
Justify yourself.
Well, first I - Liar.
- I've done good things.
- No, you haven't.
- In my heart, I tried to do good things.
- No, you didn't.
- Look, I've tried to lead a good life.
When? Ah! What's that? It's the Archangel Gabriel! Well, that's me converted! Hallelujah! You are a slimy, despicable, rat-hearted, green discharge of a man, aren't you? Wellsort of, yes.
So, then, justify yourself.
What else could I have been? My father was a half-crazed military failure, my mother was a bitch-queen from hell.
My brothers had looks and talent.
What did I have? Unmanageable hair and ingrowing toenails.
Yes, I admit I'm nothing.
But from what I started with, nothing is up.
Hi, buddy.
This is your judgement day, bud.
I gotta be cruel.
No favours.
I'm hearing you on FM.
I have to ask you the question - justify your existence.
What contribution have you made? I have given pleasure to the world because I have such a beautiful ass.
- Well, that's true.
- Can I go now? - That's your case? - You need more?! Some might say that's a shallow argument.
Some might say I'm a shallow guy.
But a shallow guy with a great ass.
- Sometimes you astonish even me.
- Thank you.
Well, Kryten, justify yourself.
I'm not sure I can.
Surely your life is replete with good works.
Few individuals have lived a more selfless life.
But I am programmed to live unselfishly.
Any good work comes not out of fine motives, but as a result of binary commands I am compelled to obey.
Well, then, how can any mechanical justify himself? Only if he attempted to break his programming and conduct his life according to values arrived at independently.
Your argument invites deletion.
- The rules are yours.
- Do you wish to be erased? I am programmed not to wish for anything.
I serve.
In a human, this behaviour might be considered stubborn.
But I am not human, and neither are you.
And it is not our place to judge them.
I wonder why you do? (BOOMING VOICE) Enough.
Wellget out of this one, smeghead.
- What you talkin' about? - You know what you could've done, - what you could've become.
- So? You've got brains, man.
Brains you've never used.
- So? - So justify yourself.
Spin on it! The inquisition is over.
I have reached my verdict.
Two ofyou have failed to become that which you might so easily have been.
You have lived without merit, and so not lived at all.
(WHOOSH) - You scum! You've wiped them out! - Sir He's crazy, Kryten.
He's erased Cat and Rimmer.
- They are quite safe.
- Sir I'm afraid we are to be erased.
Ah.
The Cat has lead a more worthwhile life than us? He is a shallow and selfish creature, as is the hologram.
By their own low standards, they have acquitted themselves.
Whereas you and the mechanoid could have been so much more.
(WHOOSH) - What's this? - We are being surgically removed from time.
Every memory of us is being dissolved.
Our lives are being undone.
It is complete.
The time-lines are knitted.
Causality is healed.
All that remains is to remove your physical forms from existence.
Well, if you've got some amazing plan up your sleeve, Kryten, now's the time to mention it.
No plan, sir.
No sleeves.
- (WHOOSH) - Perfect.
Now, what did I do next? (BUZZING) (INQUISITOR WAILS) Now, hurry! Take the gauntlet and go! - What is goin' on? - No time to explain.
I've come from the future to rescue you.
Hurry! What about meI mean youI mean us? - I'm afraid we get killed.
- Killed? How? While I'm standing here explaining this, the Inquisitor jumps me from behind.
You can't save me.
Before you reach the storage bay, you must have decoded the gauntlet's controls.
- How? Give us a clue? - I cannot explain.
For some bizarre reason, my final words are "enig".
- "Enig"? - Yes.
Enig - Come on, sir.
- He's just killed you! Sir, we have to go! - (BLEEP) - You are not registered as personnel.
- State your name and clearance code.
- It's us, Hol! - State your name and clearance code.
- Lister, D, 000-169.
I have no record of your palm print.
Intruder alert! - Initiating override.
- State your name and clearance code.
Logon name, Kryten.
Registration code, Additional 001.
I have no record of your CPU ident.
- (SIREN SOUNDS) - We don't exist any more.
- (YELLS) - Tear gas! (WAILS) Oh, thank God it's you guys.
- Move an eyebrow and you're dog meat.
- It's us! - Who are you? What do you want? - Rimmer, it's me.
- How do you know my name? - It's on your uniform.
Sir, they've never met us.
We are between realities.
- They have no memory of us.
- I'll ask once more.
What do you want? Yo, we're not the enemy.
There's a guy here somewhere obliterating people from history.
- We used to be your shipmates.
- Only we've forgotten you (!) - Yeah.
- Well, I'm convinced (!) - Rimmer, I know you.
- Well, if you do, you'll know I'm the kind of hardened ex-marine type guy you do not trifle with.
No, you're not! - For the last time - Fiona Barrington.
Fifteen years old.
You got off with her in your Dad's greenhouse.
You thought you got lucky but it turned out that you had your hand in warm compost.
- How could I know that? - Not true.
You got three brothers.
You're really mean.
You're a tremendous physical coward.
You spent an afternoon with the Samaritans and four people committed suicide.
Your middle name's Judas.
You say it's Jonathan.
You sign all your official letters AJ Rimmer, BSc.
BSc stands for Bronze Swimming Certificate.
You're a cheating, weaselly, lowlife scumbucket with all the charm and social grace of a pubic louse.
Gotta admit, bud.
He's got a handle on you there.
Sirs, you've got to help us.
The Inquisitor will obliterate us.
Who the smeg are these guys, Rimmer? Never mind that.
Who the smeg are you? I the smeg am Lister.
Of course.
An alternative you.
A David Lister who never got a chance to exist.
So we're kind ofsperms-in-law? - Yes, sir.
- Delicately put, sir.
- So what do we do with them? - Waste them.
Rimmer, for smeg's sake! - He's such a dork.
- You're tellin' me? They come here with some fairy story, chained together like Sidney Poitier and Tony Curtis.
Let's open the door to oblivion for them.
- Rimmer, no one's killing no one.
- Yeah, right.
They've come from some freaky alternative dimension to hijack this ship and doooh, weird things to us.
I think we should stick them in the brig.
I hate to say it, but TransAm wheel arch nostrils is right.
- Get moving.
- What did you call me? - Look, you know the score.
- Why do I know the score? Because you're me.
We're shot from the same gun barrel.
Only difference is, one did breast stroke, one did crawl.
What are you trying to say? - I'm saying - (CRASH) That's him, guys! This way! - Come on! Let's go! - Let's go back! Oh, my God! Hang on a minute.
I can use this.
Come on! Go! If we got down to the transport decks, we could nick one of the Starbugs.
Uh-oh.
A door.
Let's use an air vent.
- No need.
- Sir? Look, I'm gonna do something that's totally gross.
Turn around.
- What? - Trust me, you don't wanna know.
(BLEEPS AND HUMS) Logically, sir, there is only one way you could have opened that door.
I feel quite nauseous.
- Where is it? - Where's what? Oh, sir, you've got it in your jacket! - I got us out of the hold, didn't I? - Sir, you are a sick, sick person.
- How can you conceive of such an idea? - Shut up or I'll beat you with the wet end! Sir, if mechanoids could barf, I'd be onto my fifth bag by now.
- You're a sick person! - Come on! What's the point in trying to get out of this? We already know we fail.
Not so.
We only know that I die.
If my gambit results in your safety, it will be a move well made.
For myself, death holds no fear.
- Oh, yeah? - Sir, I am programmed to relinquish my life.
That's why the 4000 Series was voted "Android of the Year" five years running.
I have as much interest in saving my own life as a chronically depressed lemming.
That's not true, is it? Not any more.
And it's all because of me.
It's my fault.
I made you break your programming.
I taught you to lie, to make your own decisions.
I made you moremore human.
I gave you a life to lose.
Sir, with the greatest respect, that is complete shash.
Kryten, I know when you're lying.
Your right foot jiggles.
- It's involuntary.
- Nonsense.
I'm not afraid to die.
For me, death holds no fear.
I believe in Silicon Heaven.
I believe in an afterlife for androids! - Haven't you broken those damn manacles?! - Kryten! - I won't let it happen.
- Cause and effect, sir.
It HAS happened.
There's nothing we can do except save your life.
I think this is a variant of the Enigma decoding system.
- Enigma.
"Enig" - Enigma.
- "Enig".
Of course.
My last words.
Anyway, if this works, it should age those manacles by half a million years.
- If it doesn't work? - It'll wipe out the universe.
- Phew! - What now? Well, now WE have the power.
(CLUNK) OK, we don't know you, but we know we wanna be on your side.
He killed our crew mates.
He's a monster.
- I'm the Cat, this is Rimmer.
- Yeah.
Lister.
Kryten.
Look, I'm not in love with the idea of pitching in with you, but needs must.
You really don't remember me, do you? How I used to get on your pecks.
Like I'd be trimming me toenails with your electric meat carver, and you'd go spare.
Sir, we must get down to the storage bay.
Remember my message.
That is where we meet the Inquisitor for the final confrontation.
That's your plan? Go and face him? Nice plan (!) Shall I paint a bull's-eye on my face? Listen, Kryten.
I've come up with something.
- Yes, sir? - I'm gonna use my brains for once.
Considering the circumstances, sir, do you really believe that's wise? - Give me the gauntlet.
- You don't understand it.
- You'll have to shout instructions.
- Why don't I wear it? - You can't, Kryten.
- Why not? You're programmed not to kill.
So, the mortals seek to challenge my mastery.
(SWOOSH) Kryten, I can't work this thing.
Gamma, delta, one, four, five.
- Smeg.
You youthed me.
- The sport begins.
(SWOOSH) Now what the smeg have you done? Excuse me.
Could I distract you for a second? Huh? (SWOOSH) "Excuse me.
Could I distract you for a second"?! It was the best I could ad-lib at the time, sir.
- He got the Cat and Rimmer, though.
- I know.
Look, I've got to go back in time and sacrifice myself in order that we can get into this mess in the first place.
Yeah, sure.
All in all, today's been a bit of a bummer, sir.
- How long before he unfreezes? Ten minutes? - No.
8.
4.
- We'd better be right, Kryten.
- I know.
Gauntlets.
Now, what do I say when I pop up behind the Inquisitor? - Er, "Perfect.
Now what do I" - That's it.
I've got it.
I've got it.
OK, big fella.
It's dangling time.
- Welcome back on-line.
- What are you doing? One way or the other, you killed a lot of my friends this afternoon.
In fact, you may never get on my good side again.
- Oops.
- So now you're going to kill me? I don't think so.
You're a fat little human who doesn't have the balls.
Dumb talk for a guy who's dangling over a chasm.
I've seen inside your heart.
You don't have it in you.
Oh, yeah? Bet your life? - I never intended to kill you.
- Oh, no? No.
I intended to save your life.
Save my life? Why? 'Cause if I save your life, and you erase me, I won't be there to save your life, and you'll die.
Chew on that, pal.
You're giving me my gauntlet back? I'm all right.
You can't touch me.
You might've killed the others, but I'm OK.
Oh, just one thing.
If I erase you from history, you will never have existed to kill me in the first place.
- That's a point.
- So, in fact, I can erase you quite safely.
Yeah.
Yeah! It's the old backfiring time gauntlet trick.
You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to oblivion.
But you can't! All my glorious work will be undone! (WHOOSH) - Oh, it worked! - It worked? - You're a genius.
- It was your scheme, sir.
- I simply re-programmed the gauntlet.
- So what now? (WHOOSH) Well, we wait for the time-space continuum to reorder itself.
(WHOOSH) I believe this is an appropriate juncture to give me five, sir.
Give you five? I can do better than that.
I can give you fifteen.
# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere # I'm all alone, more or less # Let me fly far away from here # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun # I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose # Drinking fresh mango juice # Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun # Fun, fun, fun # In the sun, sun, sun #