1 Model shot.
Starbug has landed near an old base on a barren-looking planet. Blizzard
Conditions prevail.
2 Int. Starbug cockpit.
KRYTEN: Gravity 1.5. Wind 40 knots and variable. Coordinates locked and
set. Launch Scouter.
The CAT reaches for the release control.
RIMMER: Wait a minute. I'm in charge of security and surveillance on-
board this vessel. I, Mr. Kryten, am the one that says, "Launch
Scouter."
KRYTEN: I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to steal your thunder.
RIMMER: Launch Scouter.
Nobody does a thing. They all ignore RIMMER.
RIMMER: (Through gritted teeth) Launch Scouter.
They still all ignore him. Looking round the cockpit at things the way
you do when you are deliberately ignoring someone.
RIMMER: I'll be in the stern, correlating the ... in the stern.
KRYTEN: (Quietly, to the CAT) Would you be so good as to launch the
Scouter, please, sir.
CAT responds loudly, so that RIMMER will be able to hear him.
CAT: (Saluting) Aye Aye, _sir_! (Pulls release lever and salutes again.)
Scouter Launched, _sir_.
3 Model shot.
While the Scouter is traveling towards the apparently deserted base, we
see a view from its perspective with the following overlay:
*-------------------------------------------*
| RESOLTION: Low |
| LOC MODE: Auto |
| ENHANCE: Graphics |
| |
| PRESSURE: 10.90 |
| TEMPERATURE: Low |
| SENSOR: CCD |
*-------------------------------------------*
4 Int. Starbug Stern.
RIMMER is sulking. LISTER, KRYTEN and CAT enter from the cockpit.
KRYTEN: Sir, it appears we've encountered a scientific research centre.
LISTER: And there is someone in there, man -- a survivor.
KRYTEN: A Dr. Hildegard Lanstrom.
RIMMER: Clearly I am superfluous to this entire operation, ably commanded
as it is by a droid who was created purely to clean lavatories. So I
really don't know why you're telling me all this, Captain Bog-Bot.
LISTER: She's a hologram.
KRYTEN: I'm afraid we are going to have to commandeer your remote
projection unit in order to rescue her, sir.
RIMMER: Oh, I see. First of all I am deemed unsuitable to issue the
command, "Launch Scouter," and now I am being bundled into an escape
pod and relieved of my duties by Commander U-bend.
LISTER: Rimmer, why are you taking this so personal? It's the only way
to get her back to the ship.
RIMMER: Why do we need another hologram on-board?
KRYTEN: She's a doctor, sir. She would be a valuable asset to the team.
RIMMER: And as usual it is left to me to point out the fatal flaw in your
logic.
KRYTEN: Flaw?
RIMMER: This vessel, gentlemen and khazi droids, the crimson short one up
there, can only sustain one hologram, or had you forgotten?
LISTER, CAT and KRYTEN simply look at him.
RIMMER: You hadn't forgotten?
LISTER: Look, we could work something out. Some kind of "timeshare"
thing.
RIMMER: What d'you mean? What do you think I am, a holiday villa in the
Algarve?
KRYTEN: Sir, might I remind you, as Space Corps directive 169 quite
clearly states--
RIMMER: Holly, prepare an escape pod. Anything to save me from another
(KRYTEN voice) "Space Corps Directive."
KRYTEN: Sir, the Space Corps directives are there to protect us. They
are not a set of vindictive pronouncements directed against any one
person.
RIMMER: Has anyone _ever_ seen this legendary Space Corps directive
manual?
LISTER and CAT glance at one another, then back at RIMMER.
LISTER: Well, no.
RIMMER: He's making it up, isn't he? The bloody book doesn't exist.
KRYTEN: Sir, I assure you--
RIMMER: Why does he only ever use them against me? Why never against
Lister? Why do we never hear him quoting a Space Corps directive that
clearly states, "No crew-member should floss his teeth with the E-
string of his guitar after spraying the entire contents of his sugar
puff sandwich all over his superior's bunk?" We never hear that one, do
we?
KRYTEN: Holly, kindly furnish Mr. Rimmer with a hologrammatic copy of the
Space Corps directive manual.
RIMMER: (Tauntingly) Come on, where is it? (Holds out one hand, palm
upwards.)
It appears in RIMMER's hand. It is a fairly small A5 folio.
RIMMER: (Clearly not impressed) That's it?
KRYTEN: You should be able to study it at your leisure on your trip back
to Red Dwarf, sir.
RIMMER, beaten, turns to go. However, a thought occurs to him. He turns
and addresses KRYTEN.
RIMMER: You've changed, you know that?
KRYTEN: Changed?
RIMMER: They may not see it, but I do. I know what's going on, you've
become a really nasty piece of work.
KRYTEN: But sir, I was merely--
RIMMER: You're merely a mechanoid -- that's all you're "merely." Don't
ever forget it. (Turns and leaves.)
KRYTEN: What a smee... What a smee... What a smee Heeeeeeee.
[Cf RDIV/2: "Camille"]
5 Int. Science station.
It is moodily atmospheric, like the set of Aliens, but done on a BBC
budget with lots of smoke to disguise the fact that it is actually a
redressed version of several other sets.
LISTER: Dr. Lanstrom!
KRYTEN: Are you there Doctor?
They come across a vault type door. LISTER brushes the dust off the
door. As he goes down it, he exposes writing and pictures:
"VIRAL RESEARCH DEPT."
LISTER: Oh brutal!
"MOST GROSS DANGER" with a skull and cross-bones beside it.
"BIO-SUITS MUST BE WORN AT _ALL TIMES_" with a picture of a bio-suit and
a check-mark. There's also red triangular warning sign with the picture
inside it of a man vomiting at the same time as his guts are exploding
out of his body.
CAT: _Huh_?!
CAT and LISTER cover their mouths and noses with hankies.
KRYTEN: There is no need for alarm, sir. If there were any dangerous
viral strains in the atmosphere, the Psi-scan would have picked them up
by now.
KRYTEN shows them the scanner and then hits it on the side and shakes it
a bit.
KRYTEN: Hmmm, it's never done that before.
He turns away, wrestling with the device.
KRYTEN: Blasted stupid cheap damn stupid Martian power packs.
He throws a spent battery over one shoulder and inserts another.
CAT: (Worried) So what's the news?
KRYTEN: Well, if I could just beg your indulgence for a few seconds more,
sir, the old 345 takes a little time to warm up. (He gives it another
shake.) Still, it out-performs the 346 in 8 out of 9 bench tests. A
small wonder, then, that it secured "Psi-scan of the Year, Best Budget
Model" three years running. Now here are the results. And we're going
to ... live.
LISTER: (Sighs) We're a real Mickey Mouse operation aren't we?
CAT: Mickey Mouse? We ain't even Betty Boop!
They move off, searching for LANSTROM.
KRYTEN finds a dust-covered metal suitcase.
KRYTEN: Extraordinary!
He opens it up. The interior is filled with BBC special effects white
smoke. Peeking through the smoke is a row of test-tubes.
KRYTEN: Incredible!
He lifts one of the tubes out of the suitcase and puts it in a satchel
he's carrying.
LISTER: (Off-camera) Hey, look at this!
LISTER and CAT are examining a row of 2-meter high metal cylinders set
against a wall. KRYTEN joins them.
LISTER: Anesthesis stasis pods!
He fiddles with a near-by control panel. One of the pods slides out from
the wall and begins to open.
LISTER: I must have triggered something.
KRYTEN: Doctor? Doctor Lanstrom?
The open pod pours forth smoke, but they they can't see anything inside
yet.
LANSTROM: (_Very_ heavy German accent) And whom might you be?
LISTER: Hi. We were just passing. We heard the beacon.
LANSTROM: Schopenhauer was right, wouldn't you say? Life without pain
has no meaning. Gentlemen I wish to give your lives meaning.
LANSTROM sits up in the stasis pod. A howl emanates from her. Her eyes
glow a fluorescent red colour and electrical bolts emerge from them aimed
at LISTER, KRYTEN, and CAT.
LISTER: Why can't we ever meet anyone nice?
CAT: Why don't we ever meet anyone who can shoot straight?
6 Model shot.
Starbug is still sitting in the snow.
7 Int. Starbug.
RIMMER is talking to HOLLY.
RIMMER: I'm telling you, Kryten is taking over, slowly but surely.
Remember how he used to be in the early days? A gibbering wreck,
completely un-assertive, no self confidence, plagued by guilt, and
convinced he was fourth rate. I really liked him then.
HOLLY: Escape pod checked and standing by.
RIMMER: Well, check it again.
HOLLY: I've done three complete checks -- it's ready to launch.
RIMMER: Right, I'm going.
He exits through the door to the escape pod and then pops right back in.
RIMMER: What really gets me, is the way he thinks he can order me about.
Well, he who lives by the rule book, dies by the rule book.
The radio crackles into life. It's LISTER, and he sounds scared.
LISTER: (Slightly garbled) If you can hear us, it's me! Listen now,
Lanstrom's got some holo-virus. She's totally barking!
RIMMER: Listy?
LISTER: (Still garbled) We need backup, man, we need it bad and we need
it now!
RIMMER: Everything OK?
LISTER: What, can't you hear me?!
RIMMER: (Lying through his teeth) I'm sorry, Lister, you're very faint.
KRYTEN: Dr. Lanstrom has contracted some sort of mutated holo-plague and
is in a fearful psychopathic fury.
RIMMER: Marvellous! I'm sure she'll be a valuable asset to the team.
KRYTEN: Sir, I'm going to change frequency. Can you hear me now?
A bolt of Hex-Lightning hits the radio. LISTER and KRYTEN run, dropping
the now red-hot radio as they go. LANSTROM picks it up telekinetically
and talks into it, hands free.
LANSTROM: Hello. My name is Dr. Hildegard Lanstrom and I am quite, quite
mad.
RIMMER: Are you really? How absolutely splendid.
LANSTROM: I have a riddle for you. What's dead and dead and dead all
over?
RIMMER: I give in, Dr. Fruit-Loop, _do_ tell me.
LANSTROM: Yooooooouuuuuuu!!!
The radio blows up. A bolt of lightning passes from the explosion to
RIMMER.
RIMMER: Well we know what to get you for Christmas: a double lobotomy
and 10 rolls of rubber wallpaper.
(To HOLLY) Holly, I really must be making tracks. Keep me up to date
as to any further developments, will you?
8 Model shot.
The escape pod is seen returning to Red Dwarf.
9 Int. Science station.
Meanwhile, in that spooky complex, our intrepid trio are sneaking about
trying to avoid LANSTROM.
LISTER: Where _is_ she?
KRYTEN: It appears she's toying with us, sir.
LISTER: What kind of disease is it that gives her Hex Vision?
KRYTEN: Clearly some kind of psi-virus, sir. It appears to stimulate the
dormant psychic areas of the brain which, up till now, human-kind has
been unable to harness.
A pair of eyes -- LANSTROM's eyes -- appear, overlaid on the screen while
KRYTEN is talking. She is using telepathy to locate them.
KRYTEN: Unfortunately it requires so much energy it drains the victim's
life-force.
LISTER: That's why she was in the Stasis Pod?
KRYTEN: Precisely. Lanstrom was preserving what little lifespan remains
her.
LISTER: Well, if she is running out of time, maybe we could just give her
the run-around?
LANSTROM can now be seen moving stealthily through some pipes in the
background.
KRYTEN: Theoretically a sound notion, sir. Unfortunately--
LANSTROM: Unfortunately, she has already found you. Twinkle twinkle
little eye, now it's time for you to die.
Her Hex Vision comes on. Abruptly, she runs out of energy and disappears
with a loud scream. She has finally been destroyed by the virus.
KRYTEN: Poor woman. Destroyed by her own genius.
CAT: Genius?
KRYTEN: Oh, yes. From what little I've seen of her research here, before
the holo-virus she had a quite remarkable mind. If I'm right, the
fruits of her work should live on. (He indicates the satchel he's
carrying.)
10 Model shot.
Starbug in space.
11 Int. Starbug Stern.
On the way back to Red Dwarf, KRYTEN and CAT are peering in a microscope
when LISTER comes in from the cockpit.
LISTER: Anything?
KRYTEN: Quite extraordinary. Lanstrom postulated that there are two
kinds of virus. Positive and negative. The negative we already know
about.
LISTER: Yeah, like the flu, rabies, that kind of stuff.
KRYTEN: But she also believed that there are _positive_ viral strains
which actually make human beings feel better.
CAT: Such as?
KRYTEN: Well, at a very basic level she predicted a kind of "reverse flu"
-- a strain of virus which promotes an unaccountable feeling of well-
being and happiness.
LISTER: That's happened to me! Me life's been turned to complete and
utter crud, and I've woken up in the morning feeling good for no
apparent reason!
KRYTEN: The chances are, sir, that on those occasions you had unwittingly
contracted Lanstrom's virus. According to her notes, twentieth-century
DJs suffered from it all the time.
CAT: So what's in the tubes?
KRYTEN: Lanstrom claims to have isolated several strains of positive
virus: inspiration, charisma, sexual magnetism--
CAT: Sexual magnetism is a virus? Then get me to a hospital, I'm a
terminal case!
While CAT and KRYTEN aren't looking, LISTER puts that tube in an inside
pocket.
KRYTEN: This one is the most intriguing of all. According to her notes,
this is the viral strain Felicitus Populi, commonly known as "luck."
LISTER: (Disbelieving) Luck is a virus?
KRYTEN: A positive virus which most humans contract at some point in
their lives for very short periods. And here it is: Lady Luck in
liquid form. Want to try some?
LISTER: Is it safe?
KRYTEN: Absolutely harmless. Even so, this is a minute dose and will
only last about three minutes.
LISTER shrugs, then holds his dreadlocks and collar out of the way as
KRYTEN injects him.
KRYTEN: Now, I want you to pick out all the aces from this pack of cards.
LISTER: Shuffle them?
KRYTEN: Mmm hmm.
LISTER shuffles the deck, then picks all the aces. As he does so, KRYTEN
calls out the odds against his just-completed act.
KRYTEN: 13 to 1. 221 to 1. 5525 to 1. 270725 to 1!
KRYTEN, inspired, decides on a yet more challenging experiment.
KRYTEN: Sir, I want you to throw this dart over here into that bulls eye
behind you using your left hand, without looking.
LISTER: What, using my left hand? Into the Bulls-eye? Without looking?
No chance.
KRYTEN: Trust me, sir.
LISTER, still shaking his head, takes up throwing position.
CAT: You ready?
LISTER throws the dart. There is a dull thunk.
KRYTEN: Ahh. I think that indicates the luck virus has worn off.
KRYTEN turns round and we see the dart is embedded into the back of his
head.
HOLLY: When you're quite finished, chaps, we've got a bit of a problem
with the cargo bay doors.
LISTER: What sort of problem?
HOLLY: They won't open. Rimmer's put in an override.
HOLLY's face disappears from the screen, to be replaced by that of
RIMMER.
RIMMER: Welcome home gentlemen! If you would like to proceed to the aft,
you'll find the landing lights on in bay 47.
LISTER: Bay 47? That's quarantine!
RIMMER: Spot on.
KRYTEN: But sir, I've screened us all: we're clean.
RIMMER: Well, much as I trust a viral screening conducted by an automated
toilet attendant, I really must draw your attention to Space Corps
directive 595.
CAT: For cryin' out loud!
RIMMER: I have no intention of contracting the hologrammatic equivalent
of foaming dog fever. So gentlemen, if you'd all like to proceed to
Quarantine Room 152 where you will be spending the next three months.
12 Model shot.
Starbug lands in bay 47.
13 Int. Quarantine Room 152.
KRYTEN, LISTER and CAT enter, looking positively disgusted.
KRYTEN: Twelve weeks. I have a deep, dark sense of foreboding about
this.
LISTER: Aw c'mon, we'll get through it.
KRYTEN: This is single quarters! One chair, one bed, one shower.
LISTER: We'll manage!
KRYTEN: Sir, it's a scientific fact that the human male needs to spend
time by himself!
LISTER: It is?
KRYTEN: Yes! The most popular pastimes have always been ones that males
can enjoy alone: angling, golf, and of course the all time number one.
CAT: It's not just humans! Look what happens when two male tigers are
locked up together! One of them winds up on the other guy's toothpick!
KRYTEN: Lions, tigers, scorpions, rats, even vultures when they're in
captivity.
LISTER: What are you saying to me? Vultures need personal space? They
need like time alone if they're to put their feet up and read "What
Carcass Magazine?"
KRYTEN: Sir, I think you're downplaying the gravity of the situation.
LISTER: Look, what difference does it make? We hang out most of the time
together anyway.
CAT: Yeah, but we all knew we could stroll out the door at anytime. Not
now, though.
RIMMER appears on the other side of the darkened observation window which
takes up one whole wall of the quarantine room.
RIMMER: Welcome to quarantine, lads. I hope the next 84 days pass as
swiftly and as pleasantly as the 100-years war.
KRYTEN: Sir, I must protest. You only supplied us with single-berth
accommodation!
RIMMER: Space Corps directive 597 clearly states "One berth per
registered crew member." And as Listy is the only registered crew
member, 1 berth is all you get.
CAT: Don't rise to him.
KRYTEN: What about entertainment? You are obliged to provide us with
minimum leisure facilities. Games, literature, hobby activities,
motion pictures.
RIMMER: And in accordance with Space Corps directive 312, you'll find in
the storage cupboard over there a chess set with 31 missing pieces, a
knitting magazine with a pull-out special on crocheted hats, a puzzle
magazine with all the crosswords completed and a video of the excellent
cinematic treat, "Wall-papering, Painting, and Stipling -- a DIY
guide."
CAT: Don't rise to him.
RIMMER: And fulfilling all Space Corps dietary requirements, dinner
tonight, gentlemen, will consist of sprout soup, followed by sprout
salad, and for desert -- I think you'll like it, rather unusual --
sprout crumble.
LISTER: Rimmer, you know damn well sprouts make me chuck.
RIMMER: Well, this is awful. I've got you down for sprouts almost every
meal. (Shaking his head no) I tell a lie. It _is_ every meal.
LISTER: How long are you going to keep this up for, Rimmer?
RIMMER: Keep what up? I'm merely executing Space Corps Directive 595!
Anyway, must dash-erooni. I've got to organise your daily provision of
musical entertainment. I think you're going to like it: It's a
perpetually-looped tape of "Reggie Dixon's Tango Treats."
CAT: OK! Time to rise to him. Let me out of here! I'll kill him!
KRYTEN and LISTER restrain him as RIMMER vanishes.
LISTER: Listen, guys, he wants us to get on each other's nerves; go
through twelve weeks of hell. Well, we're not gonna give him the
satisfaction, OK? Cos the entire time we're here, we're not gonna have
one single argument, not a raised voice or a cross word. Not one angry
exchange. (To KRYTEN) OK? (To CAT) OK?
They each nod in agreement.
LISTER: Boys from the Dwarf.
They do that "hangin' loose" thingy with their hands.
14 Int. Quarantine Room 152. Five days later.
LISTER has his back turned to the camera, filling out a time chart. As
he turns, we see that he has a black eye. He glares at CAT, who is
sitting disconsolately on the edge of the room's single bunk. CAT has a
plaster across his nose plaster cast and sling on one arm. KRYTEN enters
through a door marked "SHOWER DE-CON." He is feeling the shape of his
head.
KRYTEN: Urg. I think that's straight now. Two hours it's taken me to
panel-beat my head back into shape. (Leans close to CAT, who ignores
him.) Two damn hours!
LISTER: Guys! Just take it easy!
He is siting down at the table which is covered in half-finished
crocheted hats. LISTER picks one up and tries it on.
CAT: If he tells me to "take it easy" one more time, I swear I'm gonna
turn his ears into a pair of maraccas and tap-dance a fandango on his
throat!
LISTER: I'm just sayin', there's 79 more days to go.
KRYTEN: And if you still want to be alive when there is only 78 more days
to go, I suggest you do not blow your nose.
LISTER: Do you mind if I ask why?
KRYTEN: Well, let's forego the noise and the revolting burbling sound,
and go straight to the really gross part, when you always, and I mean
always, having blown your nose have to open up your handkerchief and
take a look at the contents. I mean, why? What do you expect to see
in there? A Turner seascape, perhaps? The face of the Madonna? An
undiscovered Shakespearian sonnet?
LISTER: Rimmer was right about you -- you _have_ changed. (Stands up and
walks over to KRYTEN.) You're getting tetchy.
KRYTEN: Oh no, now don't call me "tetchy." You know what happens when you
call me "tetchy."
LISTER: Well I'm calling you it now. That's exactly what I'm calling
you. Tetchy! Tetchy! Tetchy!
KRYTEN has covered both ears with his hands during this spiel.
KRYTEN: Just as well I can't hear you. It's just as well I can't hear
you calling me "tetchy." You know what happens when you call me
"tetchy."
LISTER grabs the marker and writes "TETCHY" in large letters across the
time chart. He then lifts the 4' by 3' board off the wall and shows it
to KRYTEN.
KRYTEN: Oh no. Oh now, didn't I tell you? Didn't I _warn_ you what
would happen?!
KRYTEN picks up one of the videos.
LISTER: No.
KRYTEN: Yes.
LISTER: _No_!
KRYTEN: I'm putting it on.
LISTER: Don't put it on.
KRYTEN: I'm putting it on.
CAT: (Worried) He's putting it on.
KRYTEN: Here I go.
CAT: (Nervous) There he goes!
LISTER: Kryten, if you put that on, I'm not gonna help you out. I'm not
helping you again, not this time.
KRYTEN: You think I need _your_ help? You think I can't extract my own
head from the waste disposal unit?
CAT: It won't be the waste disposal, Frankenstein. This time I'm gonna
unscrew your neck-bolts and microwave your head!
KRYTEN: Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster. It's a common
misconception, held by all truly stupid people.
CAT: (Standing up) Don't correct me. You know how much I hate being
corrected. It really gets my feckles up!
He crosses to KRYTEN and stands nose-to-nose with him.
KRYTEN: It's "hackles," you moron. It really get's your _hackles_ up.
There's no such word as "feckles!"
CAT: Feckles, heckles, hackles, schmeckles. Whatever the hell they are,
they're up right now and pointed at you, buddy!
KRYTEN: Yeah?
CAT: Yeah!
LISTER: (Intervening) Guys, guys! Look at us, what's happened to us?
Five days on a sprout diet with a wall-papering video and a crochet
magazine. We've all turned into crazies!
KRYTEN: Just don't call me "tetchy" and don't blow your nose.
CAT: And don't play that video and don't correct me.
KRYTEN: OK.
CAT: OK.
LISTER: OK. (Siting down) We're going to get through this.
KRYTEN and CAT: (Together) And don't say that we're going to get through
this!!
KRYTEN: That stupid, chirpy optimism; that inane winsome grin.
LISTER: (Grinning inanely) This is insane! We've been in here 5 days.
There's no sign of any virus. We're _clean_!
KRYTEN: That's it -- 5 days! We've got him! Space Corps Directive 699
-- we can demand a rescreening!
CAT: He'll refuse.
KRYTEN: He can't! He's playing by the book! We've _nailed_ him!
RIMMER: (Voice only, sounding oddly strained) Gentlemen. Your
conversation makes interesting listening.
LISTER: RIMMER, is that you?
RIMMER: Oh, yes.
LISTER: 'Ow long have you been listening?
RIMMER: Two, maybe three hours.
LISTER: Well, no one's got any disease, man.
CAT: We're clean.
KRYTEN: You have to re-screen us, sir, as per Directive 699.
LISTER: No one's got any virus and no one's smeggin' nuts!
RIMMER: Well, that's good.
The observation window depolarises, revealing RIMMER. He is NOT in
uniform.
RIMMER: Is something amiss?
LISTER: (Slight quaver in him voice) Amiss? God no, what could possibly
be amiss?
RIMMER: You don't think there's anything amiss? I'm sitting here wearing
a red and white checked gingham dress and army boots and you think
that's un-amiss?
CAT: No, of course not. It's just that we thought you had gone nuts! We
were tryin' to humour you.
RIMMER: I was just doing a little test -- a little test to see if you had
gone crazy.
He abruptly tenses and lets out a horrible yell.
RIMMER: CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! If there is one thing I can't stand it's
crazy people.
LISTER: Well we've passed the test, Rimmer. You can let us out.
RIMMER: I can't let you out.
LISTER: Why not?
RIMMER: Because the King of the Potato People won't let me. I begged
him. I got down on my knees and wept. He wants to keep you here.
Keep you here for ten years.
CAT: Could we see him?
RIMMER: See who?
CAT: The King.
RIMMER: Do you have a magic carpet?
LISTER: Yeah, a little three-seater.
RIMMER: So, let me get this straight. You want to fly on a magic carpet
to see the King of the Potato People and plead with him for your
freedom, and you're telling me you are completely sane?! I think that
warrants 2 hours of W.O.O.
LISTER: What's W.O.O?
CAT: You had to ask.
RIMMER: With ... out ... oxygen. No oxygen for 2 hours. That will teach
you to be bread baskets.
He disappears.
LISTER: What do we do?
CAT: I think our only hope's the Potato King.
LISTER: How the hell did he get the holo-virus?
KRYTEN: It can be transmitted over radio waves. He must have spoken to
Lanstrom at some point. I predict we have approximately seven minutes
before the air in here becomes unbreathable.
CAT: Well, we gotta get out of here somehow!
LISTER: It's impossible. That's the whole point of Quarantine.
(Examining the door frame) Nothing gets out; nothing gets in. Not even
a microbe. Kryten, any chance of you cracking the code on the door
lock?
KRYTEN: The chances of punching in the correct combination are literally
billions (Realization strikes) ...to one!
LISTER: (Sharing the same idea) Unless...
KRYTEN: Of course!
LISTER: The luck virus!
They cross to the bench and KRYTEN picks up the hypo-gun, still loaded
with the cannister of Felicitus Populi.
CAT: Hey, you really think that stuff can get us out of here?
KRYTEN: If I give Mr. Lister a suitably large dose, he will temporarily
become the luckiest human being who ever lived.
KRYTEN presses the injector to LISTER's neck.
LISTER: (Crossing to the door) OK, then, what do I do?
KRYTEN: Well, you just press in whatever numbers you think are best.
LISTER: OK.
He hits several keys on the door combination keypad. He stands back.
The door doesn't open.
LISTER: (Exasperated) Ssss--
KRYTEN: Last digit, sir.
LISTER presses one last button. The door opens. He grins at the others
and they exit, LISTER doing that "Boys from the Dwarf" thingy again.
CAT: So, what now?
KRYTEN: We head for the hologram projection suite, before Mr. Rimmer--
RIMMER: (Behind them) "Before Mr. Rimmer" what?
They turn and face him. RIMMER is still wearing the gingham dress.
Abruptly, he raises his right hand. He is wearing a glove puppet -- a
cute furry penguin.
RIMMER: They've been naughty boys, haven't they, Mr. Flibble?
RIMMER looks at the penguin and supplies the voice, doing a rather bad
ventriloquist routine.
FLIBBLE: Yes.
RIMMER: What happens to naughty boys who've been naughty, Mr. Flibble?
FLIBBLE: Uncle Arnie fries them alive with his Hex Vision.
RIMMER: That's right, Mr. Flibble.
As RIMMER's eyes glow bright red, the others, who know by now exactly
what's coming, run for their lives. They are pursued by several hex-
bolts, which barely miss them and cause several explosions along the
corridor walls.
15 Model shot.
The view of the Red Dwarf indicates the passage of time.
16 Int. A cargo Room.
The fleeing group runs around a corner.
KRYTEN: This way!
Finding some drums and junk, then decide to duck down and hide.
KRYTEN: The holo-virus is in it's secondary stage. Mr. Rimmer can't have
long to live.
As KRYTEN speaks, RIMMER's telepathic eyes appear overlaid on-screen.
LISTER: What is he capable of?
On the wall behind them is a glass-fronted fire cabinet containing a
large axe. The lock on the cabinet flips open.
KRYTEN: Well, we've seen hex vision. Almost certainly, like Lanstrom,
he'll be capable of telepathy and possibly even telekinesis.
CAT: Tele-kiny-what-a-noose?
The glass cover of the cabinet swings open. The axe begins to twitch.
KRYTEN: The ability to move objects purely by the power of the mind.
The axe flies from the cabinet, narrowly missing CAT and LISTER and
slamming into KRYTEN's back.
LISTER: Kryten, man, are you OK?
KRYTEN: I have a medium-sized fire axe buried in my spinal column. That
sort of thing can really put a crimp on your day.
LISTER pulls the fire axe out of KRYTEN's spine, at which point it is
yanked from his hands and thrown across the room. KRYTEN starts
twitching, and is pulled to a nearby pillar, talking nonsense as he goes.
KRYTEN: Hihi-hidi-hidi-whurdidjid. Two and one-half badgers, please!
Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi! (He bashes his head against the pillar.) No, I'll eat
them here. Whap! An-dingling! Wha-hoo-hoo! An-da-an-shoo-an-shoo.
(He head-butts the pillar again.) Ah, that's better. Maybe now I can
WIN SELF-DETERMINATION FOR THE SOUTH MOLDAVIAN PEOPLE! Nick-noo-nick-
noo-nick-ank (Once again, he assaults the pillar with his head.) Ah, I
think I'm OK now.
The door dissolves in front of RIMMER and he steps through the hole.
RIMMER: Mr. Flibble's very cross. You shouldn't have ran away from him.
What are we going to to with them, Mr. Flibble?
Mr. FLIBBLE whispers something in RIMMER's ear.
RIMMER: We can't _possibly_ do that! Who would clear up the mess?
Mr. FLIBBLE gets the Hex Vision. Our three, bold heroes run for it.
17 Int. Corridor.
They are backing slowly down a corridor, watching out for RIMMER.
KRYTEN: We need to use your luck, sir.
LISTER: How?
KRYTEN: What we really need is some kind of remote link to the hologram
disk projection system.
LISTER: What, like this one?
He picks up a box with "remote projection" written on the side.
CAT: What a stroke of luck!
KRYTEN: Now what we need is a hexangonal power transfer adapter capable
of holding spikes of up to 5 million volts.
LISTER: (Tripping over it) What's this?
KRYTEN: Extraordinary. Now all we need is a B47/7RF resistor.
LISTER holds one up between his fingers.
CAT: Look out!
Mr. FLIBBLE pokes round the corner at about head height. He is followed
by RIMMER.
RIMMER: Mr. Flibble says:
FLIBBLE: Game over, boys.
RIMMER and Mr. FLIBBLE start to use their "Hex Vision" but KRYTEN manages
to switch on the just-completed remote hologram unit before RIMMER can
fire -- he falls to the ground. Mr. FLIBBLE twitches spasmodically for
several seconds then keels over, dead. RIMMER's uniform reappears and
Mr. FLIBBLE vanishes.
KRYTEN: I think he's going to be OK, sir.
LISTER: He's gonna be OK? (KRYTEN nods yes.) The luck virus must have
worn off.
18 Int. Quarantine.
RIMMER wakes up on a hospital bed.
LISTER: (VO) Rimmer? You OK?
RIMMER: What happened to me? Where am I?
CAT: (VO) Quarantine!
The observation window depolarises, revealing CAT, LISTER, and KRYTEN
dressed in red and white checked gingham dresses, matching bonnets,
pigtails and army boots.
KRYTEN: But don't worry.
LISTER: We're here to entertain ya!
LISTER squawks like a chicken and flaps his arms as KRYTEN does a jig and
CAT pulls a face.
