RED DWARF
Series VI Episode 2, "Legion"
1 Int. Starbug Galley.
RIMMER
enters the kitchen area, where KRYTEN is delicately slicing a
carrot.
RIMMER:
Ten o'clock changeover. Anything to
report?
KRYTEN: We're still lagging behind Red Dwarf, sir -- almost
twenty-four
hours behind
now. Other than that, it's been a
moderately quiet shift,
except
for one small shock a couple of hours ago when we noticed an
alien invasion fleet off the starboard
bow. Thankfully it turned out
to be one of Mr Lister's old sneezes that
had congealed on the radar
screen.
RIMMER: How are we fuel-wise?
KRYTEN: Unchanged for
today, sir. However, the supply
situation grows
increasingly
bleak. We've recycled the water so
often, it's beginning
to taste like
Dutch lager.
RIMMER: We're okay for food, though, aren't we?
KRYTEN:
Confidentially, sir, no. We've no meat,
no pulse and hardly any
grain. Worse still, the only
liquorice allsorts left are those
{whorly} little black twisty ones that everybody hates. If that
weren't bad enough, space weevils have eaten the last of the
corn
supply.
[Transcriber's
note: Whorly is best guess. It looks and sounds like
KRYTEN flubs
this line.]
RIMMER: So what's under the grill?
KRYTEN: Space
weevil.
KRYTEN pulls the pan out from under the grill. RIMMER looks away,
disgusted.
RIMMER:
You can't serve space weevil, Kryten. I
mean, not even Lister
with his
single remaining tastebud will knowingly sit down and eat
insectoid vermin. Well let's face it - with him it's practically
cannabalism.
KRYTEN places the
grilled roach on a plate, garnished with fresh
vegetables.
KRYTEN:
But it's incredibly nutritious, sir.
After all, it is corn fed.
RIMMER: You'll never get him to eat
it.
KRYTEN: Trust me sir. They say
the first bite is with the eye. It's
all
down to presentation.
He
sprinkles some grated herbs over the repast, then lifts it up in one
hand,
waiter-style.
KRYTEN: Et voila!
2 Int. Cockpit.
Meanwhile,
in the cockpit. LISTER is at the
controls, looking bored.
There is a magazine lying on a nearby control
surface.
CAT: Change-over!
Anything new?
LISTER picks up his magazine and stands
up.
LISTER: Oh, nothing much.
Electrical storm, alien war fleet - false
alarm, the usual stuff.
CAT squeezes
past Lister as he heads for the door.
CAT: Look at the state of this
place! Why can't you ever clean up
before
we swap over?
LISTER:
(shrugs)
CAT sits down in the control chair which LISTER has just
vacated.
CAT: What the hell is all this down the back of my
chair? Peanuts?
LISTER: No, I've
been trimming my verrucas.
CAT: You have personal habits that would make a
monkey blush!
LISTER: You really think I'm psychotically disgusting, don't
you?
They're peanuts,
okay?.
CAT: REAL peanuts?
LISTER: Yeah.
CAT: (Popping one in his
mouth.) Where'd you get them?
LISTER: That derilict a couple of months
back. I found them in the dead
captain's old donkey jacket.
CAT
stares at him.
LISTER: Don't look at me like that. You enjoyed that mint imperial,
didn't you?
CAT: And where did you get
that?
LISTER: He was sucking that when he got shot. I had to prise his jaws
open with a car jack.
CAT: Uh-huh, you
think I'll buy anything you say, don't you?
Well,
wrong, buddy! Now get out of here - I gotta keep my eyes
skinned for
that asteroid shaped
like a dancing moose you told me about yesterday.
3 Int.
Mid-Section.
LISTER enters the mid-section.
LISTER: Hi,
honey, I'm home.
As LISTER sits down at the table, KRYTEN and RIMMER
enter. KRYTEN places
before him a
covered metal tray and a tape.
KRYTEN: Supper, sir, and tonight's
movie. I'm sorry, sir, it is
another
Doug McClure. Please don't hit me.
LISTER lifts
the cover off the supper tray, and freezes.
He peers
intently at the plate.
LISTER: What's
this?
KRYTEN: Sir?
LISTER digs around on plate and holds up the
offending foodstuff.
LISTER: Raw carrot? Kryten, you know how I feel about fresh vegetables -
they're for health psychoes, vitamin
freaks. People... (He tosses the
carrot onto the table, away from his plate)
...who exercise.
KRYTEN: I'm sorry, sir.
LISTER opens his
magazine and takes a bite of weevil. He
pauses, a look
of annoyance and disgust crossing his face
KRYTEN:
Is everything okay, sir?
LISTER: No, it's not. Some smegger's filled in this "Have You Got A Good
Memory" quiz.
KRYTEN: But that was
you, sir. Last week. Don't you remember?
LISTER: Was
it?
KRYTEN: Hm. Look: Nobody else spells "Thursday" with
an "F"
LISTER: I can't help it.
I went to art college.
Resumes eating.
RIMMER:
(Leaning in close.) How's supper, Listy?
LISTER: It's delicious. I didn't know we had any crunchy king
prawn
left!
CAT
appears in the doorway to the cockpit.
He looks worried.
CAT: I hate to go all technical on you,
but... all hands on deck, swirly
thing alert!
4 Int. Cockpit.
Thet charge through
to the cockpit. There are four control
positions:
CAT takes the main joystick (forward right), LISTER the
communications
and navigation (forward left). RIMMER takes short-range sensors (rear
left), and KRYTEN
takes shipboard systems and long-range
sensors (rear,
right).
[Transcribers note: I'm guessing at the functions of the
various
positions, based on what happens in this scene. If anyone can come up
with better or
more accurate ideas, I'll be glad to change the ones noted
above.]
LISTER:
Where?
CAT: It's not on the radar yet - but I can smell it.
RIMMER:
Nothing here.
KRYTEN: Nothing on long-range. Sir, is it possible you could have made a
mis-smelling?
CAT: Listen, butter-pat
head, my nostril-hairs are vibrating faster than
the springs on a spaniard's honeymoon
bed! I'm telling you, there's
something out there!
KRYTEN: Don't get
your double-helix in a strict! No-one's
questioning
your nasal
integrity.
RIMMER: Go to blue alert.
LISTER: What for? There's no-one to alert - we're all
here.
RIMMER: I would just feel more comfortable if I know that we're all
on
our toes 'cos everyone's aware
it's a blue-alert situation.
LISTER: We all are on our toes.
RIMMER:
May I remind you all of Space Core Directive 34124?
KRYTEN: 34124. "No officer with false teeth should
attempt oral sex in
zero
gravity".
RIMMER: Damn you both, all the way to Hades! I want to go to Blue Alert!
LISTER: Ok,
ok.
LISTER presses a button.
The "Alert" box on the wall starts to flash
blue.
RIMMER:
Thank you. A bit of
professionalism.
KRYTEN: Wait!
I've got something - I'm punching it up.
5 Model Shot.
We
see a view of an orange, comet-like thing speeding through space
6
Int. Cockpit.
LISTER: Too small for a vessel... maybe some kind of
missile.
KRYTEN: It's impossible to tell at this range. Whatever it is, they
clearly have a technology way in advance of
our own!
LISTER: So do the Albanian State Washing Machine Company.
RIMMER:
Step up to red alert!
KRYTEN: Sir, are you absolutely sure? It does mean changing the bulb.
RIMMER:
There's always some excuse, isn't there?
LISTER: Range15,000 Gigooks and
closing.
KRYTEN: Direct collision course.
Suggest evasive action!
CAT: Engaging re-heat.
7 Model
Shot.
They dodge.
8 Int. Cockpit.
LISTER: It's
still with us! It's some kind of
heat-seeker - we can't
outrun
it!
CAT: That's it! We're deader
than tank-tops!
RIMMER: Suggestions?
KRYTEN: Sir? May I recommend I load myself into the
reverse-thrust tubes
and you use
my body as decoy-fodder? This will, of
course leave me
splattered across
deep space and unable to complete today's laundry,
for which I apologise in advance.
RIMMER:
Kryten, stop your blathering and get in the damn tube.
LISTER: Kryten, sit
down! I'm not doing me own smeggin'
ironing.
RIMMER: Look, maybe we can reason with it. Open communication channels,
Lister.
Broadcast on all known frequencies, and in all known
languages, including Welsh.
LISTER
does so.
RIMMER: This is acting senior officer Arnold J Rimmer of
the Jupiter
Mining Corporation
transport vehicle Star Bug. Now hear
this, 'cos
it's only coming
once: We surrender, totally and without
condition.
Thank you for
listening. Oh, additional: sorry to take up your
valuable time. Sorry. Thank you. Sorry.
Bye. Bye. Sorry.
Thank
you. Thank you.
Thank you.
LISTER: Rimmer, you've got a longer yellow streak than a
stampede of
diuretic
camels.
RIMMER: Know this about me:
like General George S. Patton, I
believe in
reincarnation. It is my firm conviction that in all my
previous lives
I've been a
soldier, a bold warrior soul, (he stands up) who tragically
in this incarnation has been given the body
of an abject coward. So
excuse me, gentlemen, while I have a
humiliating panic attack under the
scanner table.
He scampers aft.
CAT: Here it
comes!
LISTER: Five Gigooks to impact - hang onto your wage packets.
9
Model Shot.
The missile hits them.
Immediately, Starbug is enclosed in a sphere made
up of hundreds of
points interconnected by glowing lines - much like a
computer generated
model of a Buckminsterfullorene molecule.
10 Int. Cockpit.
Inside
the cockpit, the lighting has turned red.
CAT: The controls are
down!
RIMMER, satisfied that they are still alive, re-enters the
cockpit.
RIMMER: What on Io was that?
KRYTEN: Some kind of
suction beam. We're being dragged
down.
LISTER: Fire up the retros.
CAT: Dead.
LISTER: Auxilliary
power?
CAT: Dead.
LISTER: Joystick?
CAT: Dead. Aw, the entire panel's deader than A-line
flares with pockets
in the
knees!
KRYTEN: I've located the beam's source. I'm punching it up.
11 Model Shot.
We see a
view of Starbug being pulled towards an intricate, graceful
space
station. Waves of energy are pulsing out
from a hanger bay about
halfway up the station's main axis. As they reach the net surrounding
Starbug,
they exapnd, flowing around the net on all sides. The energy
waves are wafting Starbug towards the
hangar.
12 Model Shot.
Starbug, surounded by the net, is
landed in the hangar. It is of a
rather
curious design: A rather pleasing white
marble decor, with at
least one free-form sculpture prominently displayed
on the black-and-
white checked floor.
The net vanishes.
13 Int. Mid-Section.
RIMMER: So
what have we got?
LISTER: Well, it seems we were snared by some kind of
malfunctioning
guidance
beam. (He sounds a little indignant.)
Designed to help
docking supply
ships. We've shut it down, and we're
free to leave.
CAT: Anyone around?
LISTER: No life signs,
nothing.
KRYTEN: The ident computer is stubborn as a mule. All I could get from
its pesky little ROM was something about
classified military research.
Wouldn't give me any details.
But listen to some of the physicists
involved - Heideger, Davro, Holder, Quayle - some of the most
brilliant
minds of the 23rd
century. Whatever they were cooking up
here it must
have been something
pretty special.
RIMMER: Hmm.
Anything we can salvage?
LISTER: There must be something we can
swipe.
RIMMER: Well gentlemen, our strategy is clear. Let's tool up and go
shopping!
14 Int. Station
Corridor.
They enter the station.
It looks like the inside of a shopping mall -
clean, almost
antiseptic, stylish. KRYTEN is wielding
the psi-scan: it
emits a soft,
regular beeping. They aren't far in
when CAT pauses,
sniffing.
LISTER: What? anything?
CAT: I'm not sure. Something.
A strange mist swirls
around and past them. None of them
appear to
notice it.
CAT: It's almost off my nasal
spectrum.
The mist curls upwards onto a higher level, where it
coaleasces into a
humanoid figure.
It watches them approach. The
beeping from the psi-
scan becomes more rapid, until it merges into a
single note.
KRYTEN: Strange - a life reading.
RIMMER: Why
didn't it register before?
The stranger descends in a lift. He is clad in a gold bodysuit, with a
silver
chest-pack and facemask.
STRANGER: Welcome, my friends. It has been many centuries since I
last
had visitors.
He
turns to KRYTEN.
STRANGER: You, of course, are Kryten.
He
shakes KRYTEN's hand, then turns to face RIMMER.
STRANGER: And you
are Rimmer, the hologram. May I?
Be
fore RIMMER can react, he reaches in and grabs RIMMER's light bee.
RIMMER
immediately fades as the light-bee tries to continue projecting
him, but
at a greater range. He vanishes
altogether as the stranger
switches the light bee off, and examines it
closely. He opens it...
STRANGER:
Now then.
... and removes a few metres of wire, whilst
muttering:
STRANGER: Yes, of course. Primitive. So
basic.
He replaces it with a thimble sized unit, which rattles
inside the
otherwise near-empty casing, and switches it back on. He lobs the light-
bee towards RIMMER's
last location. RIMMER reappears there,
as before,
but now his jacket is blue.
He pauses for a moment to catch his breath.
RIMMER: You'd
better have a mighty damn fine explanation for what you've
just done, miladdio.
STRANGER: Forgive
me. I merely converted your projection
unit from soft
light to hard
light.
RIMMER: Hard light? (He
pats himelf, unconvinced. LISTER prods
him.)
I've got a body? I can touch? (He touches LISTER's shoulder,
tentatively.) feel?
KRYTEN: Puncture repair kit on standby,
sir.
RIMMER: But how?
STRANGER: I created the hard-light drive many
years ago. My mind is not
all that it once was. You, my friend, are Lister.
LISTER: How
come you know who we all are?
STRANGER: You are in pain. Here.
He touches a spot on his
stomach.
LISTER: No, just a bit of Bangalore Belly.
STRANGER:
No. It is something more serious. May I?
LISTER: Okay.
LISTER
opens his jacket and shirt. The
stranger uses a scalpel-like
device to slice a neat, painless, bloodless
slit in LISTER's stomach. He
reaches
inside, and takes out...
STRANGER: Your appendix. As I thought, you were on the verge of
peritonitis.
He then hands the
appendix to LISTER.
LISTER: Cheers, man.
STRANGER: And you are
the Cat.
CAT: You come anywhere near me, buddy, you'll be wearing them
bowels as a
bobble hat.
STRANGER:
You're all tired and in need of nourishment.
Come, let us
dine.
RIMMER:
(Obsequiously.) What is your name?
STRANGER: Call me... Legion.
15
Int. Dining Room.
LEGION leads them into a dining room full of
exquisite art objects. Soft
harpsichord
music plays in the background.
LEGION: Please, make yourselves
comfortable.
KRYTEN: Legion... these statues. You sculpted them yourself?
LEGION: Years ago. I was... a different person, then.
KRYTEN:
Well, according to my connoiseur chip, they fulfill all ten
requirements for being masterpieces.
RIMMER:
You're have a connoiseur chip?
KRYTEN: Just because I look like Herman
Munster's stunt man doesn't mean
to say I can't appreciate art, sir!
LEGION: I shall return with the
feast.
RIMMER: Can I eat? I mean,
in this body, is it possible?
LEGION: Mr.
Rimmer, in a hard-light body, you can do anything a human
can do, with the added bonus that you are
practically indestructible.
RIMMER: I can't be hurt!?
LEGION: You're
pleasure and pain responses remain the same, but you
cannot come to harm. Excuse me.
As LEGION leaves to
prepare them their feast, RIMMER bows to him
smarmily. LISTER flops down in one of the chairs and
puts his feet up on
the table.
CAT, ill at ease, also sits.
KRYTEN: (Putting down the
psi-scan.) His cellular structure is unique!
Genetic strands I've never seen before. Part living tissue, part
mechanical.
RIMMER: (Leaning forward against the back of a chair.)
We've got to
persuade him to come
with us. He'd get us back to Earth in
weeks! And
what a team we'd make. Legion, with his scientific genius,
intellect,
culture and
sophistication, and us with... (He stops abruptly,
realising that his scheme has hit a slight
snag.) With...
LISTER: With our red alert bulb. Let's flag down a black cab and head
for Real Street here. This Johnny won't come with us. He'd never fit
in.
Can you see him joining in on our late-night sessions of "pin
the
pointy stick on the weather
girl"?
RIMMER: True... but once he's signed up and we're off in the
Big Black
it'll be too late for
him to change his mind. All we have to
do is
create the facade that
we're not the uncouth morons you are.
Just then the door opens,
signaling LEGION's return.
LEGION: Here is the feast. It is a traditional 24th century
Mamosian
banquet.
RIMMER
goes into "obsequious prick" mode with a vengeance, as KRYTEN
starts
serving the food.
RIMMER: How absolutely divine, Legion. (pronounced with a French
accent.) Although I must say, our souls are
already gorged fit to burst
with
the feast of art laid out on your walls.
LEGION: (Faintly amused) I wasn't
aware you had an interest in art, Mr
Rimmer?
RIMMER: Many's a night we while away the wee hours
contemplating a
Caravaggio,
discussing its shape, themes and form.
CAT: The pointy-stick game doesn't
get a look-in anymore.
RIMMER: Hmm.
Marvelous. (Crosses over to a
small, angular box near the
door.) Now this three-dimensional sculpture in particular is quite
exquisite.
Its simplicity, it's bold, stark lines... pray, what do you
call it?
LEGION: The light switch.
RIMMER:
The light switch. (In "Gazpacho
Soup" tones)
LEGION: Yes.
RIMMER: I couldn't buy it, then?
LEGION:
Not really. I need it to turn the
lights on and off.
RIMMER: (Trying to salvage some pride) It's a pity,
'cos if it wasn't a
l-light
switch i-in many ways it could be considered a-a masterpiece.
They
cross to the table.
LEGION: Kryten, please join us. Mamosian cuisine is quite acceptable
for
mechanoids.
KRYTEN:
Indeed. It has long been a dream of
mine to sample its unique
flavours.
LEGION: Let the meal begin.
He disconnects the
breathing-tube from the moth-hole on his mask.
the
others, meanwhile, are investigating the cutlery. There are no knives or
forks: instead, each person has two strange
devices, which look rather
like an egg-whisk that's been mated with a
model of an ethanol molecule.
Seeing their confusion, Legion speaks
up:
LEGION: I'm sorry. Of
course. Not all of you can use Mamosian
anti-
matter chopsticks.
He
switches his chopsticks on for a few seconds.
They rotate, giving off
an electrical hum.
KRYTEN: I'm
fully versed, Legion. For my cooking
duties, I'm programmed
to be
proficient in all known off-world eating techniques, including
Jovian Boogle Hoops, and the often-lethal
Mercurian Boomerang Spoon.
LEGION: But the others.
The
aforementioned others are holding their anti-matter chopsticks. they
grin weakly.
LISTER:
Antimatter chopsticks? We use them all
the time.
CAT: Can't even remember what a fork looks like.
RIMMER:
Don't let a few congealed custard stains down Lister's long-johns
delude you into thinking we're not
sophisticates.
They switch on their chopsticks. A blob of food rises from it's plate
and,
under the guidance of Legion's chopsticks, crosses the table to his
mouth,
while the uncouth morons watch in barely-concealed amazement.
KRYTEN:
The trick is, of course, to never, ever, under any circumstances,
to allow live sticks to touch - but of
course we all know that.
KRYTEN uses his own chopsticks to pick up what
looks like a birds-nest.
He is clearly not as expert as Legion: the food wobbles in mid-air,
forcing
him to chase it around with his mouth.
RIMMER: Well, bon
appetite. Tuck in, Listy.
LISTER:
No, no, after you, man.
RIMMER: Wouldn't hear of it.
LISTER
tries to use the chopsticks on the dish in front of him. He's
doing pretty well - bar the small
detail that he has got food from a
plate other than the one he was aiming
for - until, that is, he tries to
take a bite. He loses control of the sticks, and the food shoots off to
the
right... and lands on RIMMER's face.
KRYTEN: (Softly.) Sir, you're
creating a reverse field. Try and keep
the
electron flow in the same
direction.
CAT, meanwhile, is having a different problem. His food is two feet
above his head,
and his chopsticks are pointed straight at it.
CAT: How do you land
the damn stuff?
KRYTEN: (Quietly) Simply invert the ionic phase in the
downpulse of the
field
margin.
CAT: I was with you all the way up to "simply".
KRYTEN:
Like so.
He intervenes with his own chopsticks. Between them, he and CAT manage
to land
the food... on RIMMER's shoulder. As
RIMMER glares at them,
KRYTEN notices LISTER tugging futilely at his
wineglass.
KRYTEN: (Urgent whisper) Sir, the glass is fixed to the
table. It's
Mamosian telekinetic wine.
LISTER: So
how do you drink it?
KRYTEN: You simply will the liquid into your mouth,
and then you
telepathically
decide on its flavour. Thusly:
He
turns his attention to the glass before him.
The liquid within jets
straight into his mouth in a thin
stream. KRYTEN sucks for a few
seconds,
then sits back with a sigh.
KRYTEN: Ah. Delicious.
LISTER gives it a go. He squints hard at the glass, and
sucks. The
liquid jets from the
glass in a thick stream, and hits him in the face.
LISTER:
Kryten! Help me!
KRYTEN
concentrates, and the jet stops, leaving LISTER gasping for air.
He
notices LEGION watching him and gives a sickly grin. Meanwhile, CAT
and RIMMER are having a slight
disagreement...
RIMMER: (Through a mouthful of food) Cat, that's
mine!
CAT is struggling to control his chopsticks, which are pointed
straight
at the food in RIMMER's mouth.
The food is being pulled towards them,
causing RIMMER's cheek to
bulge.
CAT: I can't help it, bud!
Somehow we've crossed wavelengths!
RIMMER: It feels like you're
pulling my teeth out!
CAT: Try swallowing it!
RIMMER: I have - three
times!
Abruptly, the food leaves RIMMER's mouth. It shoots past CAT's
chopsticks, and
glossops against one of LEGION's paintings.
LEGION: My friends, I
sense you are trying to impress me.
There really
is no
need.
RIMMER: Legion: may I be
frank? It's not often we meet an
individual
who we feel could
improve our already pretty damn fine top-notch team.
But in you, we feel we have. In all our travels, we have met
precisely
thirty-one
individuals: three one. And we have never felt moved to
invite a single one to join our crew. True, most of them wanted in
some way to suck out our brains, or erase us
from history altogether.
Nevertheless,
they still weren't what we would consider The Right
Stuff.
We feel that you are different.
We feel that you, like us,
have the courage and the dignity it takes to make it as a Dwarfer.
Satisfied
with his speech, RIMMER sits back and starts to cross his...
KRYTEN:
Sir! Don't cross the chopsticks!
All
the food on the table starts to tremble.
All at once, it lifts into
the air and hurls itself at RIMMER. When the barrage finally stops,
RIMMER
is completely covered in food.
LEGION: Mr Rimmer, I am moved by the
eloquence of your invitation, but it
is quite impossible for me to leave the confines of the institute.
RIMMER:
It was Lister, wasn't it? He put you
off.
KRYTEN: Is there nothing we can do to change your mind?
LEGION:
Absolutely.
KRYTEN: Then I'm afraid we must bid you farewell. We have a long journey
ahead of us.
LEGION: Nonsense. You have no journey at all, my friends. I insist you
stay here with me. You
will be my honoured guests - from now until the
day you die.
RIMMER wipes the food from his face, and
sighs.
RIMMER: Thirty-two.
16 Int. Bedroom.
LEGION
leads LISTER into a bedroom. Posters
cover the walls, and loud
(Rastabilly?) music plays on the juke-box. On the bed is a steel guitar,
and in
one corner of the room is a fridge.
LEGION: This will be your cell,
Dave.
LISTER: My cell. You really
are a nutter, aren't you?
LISTER crosses over to the table. On the table-top is a wine bottle in a
bucket
of ice and a covered tray. LISTER
investigates the bubbly, then
lifts up the cover of the tray.
LISTER:
Sugar Puff Sandwiches? Me
favourite!
LEGION: I think you will find nothing here that isn't to your
liking.
The entire room is
stocked for your own unique personal tastes and
requirements.
LISTER examines the interior of the
fridge.
LISTER: Two dozen eight-packs and a spare pair of sneakers
in the ice-
box. Faultless!
Not an inch wasted.
He closes the fridge and flops down on
the bed.
LEGION: All your favourite music, all your favourite
movies. Absolutely
no Doug McClure. You will want for nothing.
LISTER: Nothing? What about company? What about people?
LEGION: There is a
cyberpark in the complex. You may go to
any time-
period of your
choosing, and indulge any fantasy you wish, with any
persons you desire.
LISTER: And that's
in some way supposed to make me happy?
(pause) S-
sorry, run that
by me one more time?
LEGION: You will meet your companions in the
morning. (He sags
slightly.) Now, you must excuse me they are
falling asleep.
(Straightening
up.) I must go.
LEGION leaves quickly. LISTER picks up the guitar and strums it
experimentally. The noise is awful.
LISTER:
Amazing. Doesn't even need
tuning!
17 Int. Dining Room.
Next morning, they all
gather for breakfast in the dining room.
RIMMER
is the last to arrive.
KRYTEN: Good morning,
sir.
RIMMER: What does he want from us?
Why is he so obsessed with fulfilling
our every desire?
KRYTEN: We're all equally baffled,
sir. Was your room like everyone
else's - perfect in every detail?
RIMMER:
Impeccable. Right down to the
overstarched pyjamas and nocturnal
boxing gloves. What about
you?
KRYTEN: Filthy walls, mud-streaked floors, mop and bucket... I was
in
Hog's Heaven, sir!
LISTER:
When I finally get round to writing my Good Psycho Guide, this
place is gonna get raves. Accomodation - excellent. Food - first
class. Resident nutter -
courteous and considerate. Psycho
rating's
gotta be four and a half
chainsaws. Higher, maybe.
KRYTEN:
Sirs, we must not be seduced by all this fine living. However
munificent
our captor, we are still prisoners. And
with every second
that passes, we
lose yet more ground on Red Dwarf.
LISTER: You're right, Kryten. Cat, caviar niblet.
CAT passes
him the requested foodstuffs. LISTER
stands, places one foot
on a chair, and addresses his troops.
LISTER:
Bucks fizz.
CAT passes him the jug, and LISTER pours himself a
drink.
LISTER: Let's talk about how to get out of this
hellhole.
CAT: What do we know about this Johnny? And why is he so keen on keeping
us happy?
KRYTEN: Is it possible that
our well-being is in some way linked to his
own?
LISTER: (Refilling his glass) What? You mean like he's feeding off our
emotions?
KRYTEN: Remember when we
arrived, the scans recorded no life signs.
Is
it possible that our
very presence here has in some way inadvertently
awoken him?
LISTER looks up from
his examination of a large, white, vaguely woman-
shaped sculpture. He grins.
LISTER: Wait a
minute... I think I've got a way of getting out of here.
Has anyone ever seen "Revenge Of The
Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire
Girls"?
KRYTEN: I think that one slipped us by, sir.
LISTER:
Well, there's this one scene where the good-looking
unconventional female journalist who wore
glasses and a tight sweater
was
trapped, deep in the bosom of the surfboarding killer bikini
vampire girls' lair, and she came up with
this truly award-winning
escape
plan...
18 Int. The Dining Room.
LEGION enters the dining
room. KRYTEN, CAT and RIMMER are
sitting at the
table, smiling in a fakey sort of way. In the chair facing away from the
door
is a sculpture, dressed in LISTER's hat and jacket. LISTER is
standing behind the door, holding a heavy-looking
objet d'art - the
sculpture he was examining whilst forming his plan -
over his head.
RIMMER: Ah.
Legion. We have considered our
position, and have decided
our
best option is to make a new life here with you.
LEGION: You truly
believed I would be deceived by that schlock plan from
"Revenge Of The Surfboarding Killer
Bikini Vampire Girls"?!
With a single backhand blow he knocks
the statue from the seat. LISTER
tosses
the sculpture onto LEGION. The impact
knocks off the facemask.
LEGION's face is a nightmare. A silver "H" on his forehead, moulded
plastic
curves, fangs and a mismatched eyes:
one mechanoid, one human.
LEGION: I just want you to be
happy!
LEGION sends LISTER flying.
As LISTER slides the length of the table,
the others stand and lift
their food and drink. LISTER tumbles
off the
far end of the table and bangs
his head off the wall. LEGION
snarls and
turns to face his guests.
As he does so, his face alters,
shifting and
rearranging. It is
now made up of the parts of three
faces, not four.
LEGION: Now look what you made me do.
LISTER
then regains consciousness with a groan.
LEGION's face shifts
again, to what it had been before.
CAT:
What the hell are you, buddy?
LEGION: (Replacing his mask.) Kryten
knows.
KRYTEN: I do?
LEGION: You suspect the truth.
KRYTEN: You
mean that you are a gestalt entity, not a single creature but
a combination of individuals melded together
to form one?
LEGION: "My name is Legion, for we are many"
LISTER
sits up.
LISTER: What - you're us?
All four of us? Our combined
minds and
personalities, blended
together?
LEGION: Oh, but much more than that, exponentially more. The whole
becomes far greater than the sum of its parts.
RIMMER: So we
can't leave because you're us? You're
created from us? If
we leave, you cease to be.
LEGION: Without
you, my friends, I am quite literally nothing.
CAT: So if he's us, he
can't hurt us, right?
CAT attempts to shimmy past LEGION, who proves
him wrong by knocking him
the length of the table. CAT winds up in the lap of LISTER, who is
still
sitting where LEGION knocked him.
CAT: Wrong.
KRYTEN:
But this is insane. Hurting us is
hurting yourself. Our pain is
your pain.
LEGION: Kryten, you
forget. Not only do I possess your
combined
intellects and memories,
I also share the sum of your malice and rage
and anger, magnified many times.
I'm capable of quite insanely
irrational behaviour.
Watch.
LEGION places his left hand flat on the table. He then takes the scalpel
in his right
hand, and stabs himself in the back of his hand. The others
all react to the terrible pain that they, too,
are now feeling.
LEGION: The next hint of insurrection, and the
scalpel ends up... here
(holding
the scalpel to his scrotum)
KRYTEN: Legion, that kind of tough talk
doesn't scare us.
OTHERS: Yes it does!
LISTER: But what about the
sculptures and the masterpieces and the
technology? Where does that come
from?
LEGION: My first incarnation.
I was host to the five most brilliant
minds of their generation.
They were experimenting in collective
intelligence. I was the
product of that research.
KRYTEN: Heideger, Quayle and the others - the
composite of their genius?
Your
mind must have been extraordinary!
LEGION: But all too soon old age began
to kill them, and as each one
died, I became less, until I was nothing, just a mindless essence
swirling around the remnants of my
acheivements, waiting to exist
again.
CAT: There's just one thing that still baffles me.
RIMMER:
What's that?
CAT: Everything.
KRYTEN: (To LISTER) Sir, permission to
test a supposition..
LISTER: Granted.
KRYTEN: trust me, sir.
KRYTEN
picks up a chair, and uses it to clobber LISTER over the head. As
LISTER hits the floor, out cold,
LEGION removes his mask. The
elements
of LEGION's face which came from LISTER vanish. Curiously, LEGION makes
no move to
intervene. KRYTEN approaches CAT.
CAT:
What's going down here?
KRYTEN: The gestalt requires our consciousness in
order to exist.
Therefore, as
each of us becomes unconscious, his power diminishes.
Permission to lay you out, sir?
CAT: Do
what you gotta, but don't mess up my hair.
KRYTEN: Thank you.
KRYTEN
lays CAT out, then approaches RIMMER.
The yellow goit backs away.
KRYTEN walks towards him. As he does so, he picks up a large blue
vase
and hides it behind his back.
RIMMER: Kryten, there has to
be a more effective escape plan than this.
KRYTEN: Sir, come back. You're just delaying the inevitable.
RIMMER:
I can't help it: I'm allergic to being
hit.
KRYTEN: (Shifting his grip on the vase.) You won't feel a thing. I'll
render you unconcious using the Ionian Nerve Grip.
RIMMER
tenses up, closes his eyes and grits his teeth. KRYTEN pinches
him on the shoulder... then smashes him over
the head with the vase.
RIMMER: That's not an Ionian Nerve
Grip! That's smashing me over the
head with a vase!
KRYTEN: There's
no such thing as an Ionian Nerve Grip.
Now stand still
while I
hit you!
He picks up a platter, and uses it to what RIMMER over the
head. RIMMER
staggers, but doesn't
go down.
KRYTEN: Your hard-light drive's tougher than vindalooed
mutton!
KRYTEN looks for a possible weapon. He spots one, and points to it.
KRYTEN:
This'll do the trick.
He rips the heavy-looking pipe free from the
wall.
RIMMER: You can't be serious!
Thump!
RIMMER:
Harder!
THUMP!
RIMMER: HARDER!
THUMP!!!!
RIMMER:
HARDER!!!
THUMP!!! THUMP!!! THUMP!!!!
RIMMER: Stop! Stop!
STOP!
He staggers slightly and shakes his head.
RIMMER:
Oh, for God's sake! If you want a job
doing properly, do it
yourself!
He walks over to a nearby wall and starts thumping
his head against it
while KRYTEN strikes him from behind with the
pipe.
Bash! Thump! Bash!
Thump! Bash! Thump!
RIMMER: STOP!
KRYTEN
continues hitting him.
RIMMER: STOP, Kryten! Clearly this is not working. I'm a hard-light
hologram, and as such un-knockoutable.
KRYTEN:
Hmm. I think you're right, sir.
THUMP!
RIMMER:
Kryten!
KRYTEN: I'm sorry, sir. I
just thought that if I took you unawares...
THUMP!
RIMMER:
Kryten!! I'm trying to think, you rubber-headed eunuch! (Thinks)
Right, got it. Turn off
my light-bee.
KRYTEN: I can't, sir.
I can't penetrate hard light.
You'll have to
extract it
yourself.
RIMMER presses one hand to his stomach. His face twists with the
effort... and
he vanishes. KRYTEN turns to face
LEGION, as the elements
of RIMMER's features vanish from LEGION, and he
comes to resemble only
KRYTEN.
KRYTEN: Now we are even.
LEGION:
I am merely you. Stalemate.
KRYTEN:
Not so. Since the only ingredients in
your psyche are mine, you
are now
incapable of malice. And because a
human life takes precedent
over
the life of any mechanical, you are in fact compelled to assist
our safe passage to Starbug.
LEGION: As
long as the others remain unconscious, your logic is
impeccable.
LISTER stirs and
starts to wake up. Still watching
LEGION, KRYTEN lifts
his head and bounces it off the floor.
KRYTEN:
You take the Cat, I'll take Mr.
Lister.
LEGION: In many ways I am relieved. To have shared their psyches, their
neuroses, their strange drives: returning to a limbo state of non-
existence seems like promotion.
KRYTEN:
One last thing: in your original
incarnation, when you were
composed of all those great minds, did you ever develop anything
which
might assist our pursuit of
Red Dwarf?
19 Model Shot.
Starbug departing Legion's
Space Station.
20 Int. Starbug Engine Room.
Later, in
Starbug, they all gather around LEGION's invention, which is
bolted to the
floor of the Engine Room. It is a
strange contraption,
rather like a three foot high silver spinning top in
a metal framework.
KRYTEN: Here we go: initiating ignition sequence.
LISTER: Is this gonna
work?
KRYTEN: Well, I see no reason why not, sir. All tests bear out, it is
indeed a fully functional stardrive. If we've linked it correctly to
the Bug's existing engines, we'll be able to
catch up with Red Dwarf in
a
matter of nanoseconds!
LISTER: Yeah, but it's bound to go wrong, isn't
it?
KRYTEN: Sir?
RIMMER: It always does for us, every time.
CAT:
He's right! There isn't a dog in hell's
chance this stardrive is
actually
gonna work.
KRYTEN: Sirs, haven't we learned over the past two days that
if we all
pull together we can
become greater than the sum of our parts.
That if
we are of one mind
and one intent, there are no boundaries to what we
can acheive. This stardrive is going to work:
do we believe?
OTHERS: (Zero percent enthusiasm) We believe.
KRYTEN:
Do. We. Believe?
OTHERS: (With just a little annoyance.) We
believe.
They switch it on.
The stardrive starts to glow and spin.
As its rate
of spin increases, it starts to rise. Higher... higher... the cables
connecting
it to the engines part one by one in pyrotechnic showers of
sparks as the
stardrive takes off and flies around the engine room,
finally crashing out
through the hull. As they are being
sucked towards
the gaping hole:
KRYTEN: Well, we know one
thing, sir!
RIMMER: What's that?
KRYTEN: It does work!
The
End