All language subtitles for 05-03 Terrorform

("RED DWARF" THEME)

(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)

(KRYTEN'S VOICE) Remain calm, Kryten.
This is your CPU speaking.

There has been an accident.

Both your legs have been
crushed beyond repair.

Your ambulatory system has been destroyed,

and your life expectancy
is currently estimated at 67 minutes.

If there is any further news,
we will keep you updated.

In the meantime, here Is a little music.

(CHEESY MUZAK: "COPACABANA")

Your auto-repair systems are now able
to restore visuals.

Kryten personal black box recording.

Time - unknown. Location - unknown.

Cause of accident - unknown.

Should someone find this recording, perhaps
it will shed light as to what happened here.

My short-term memory has been erased.

This I ascribe to the proximity
of the magnetic coils from Starbug's rear engine.

Secondly, due to the proximity
of the magnetic coils,

my short-term memory
appears to have been erased.

This, combined with the erasure
of my short-term memory,

has left me a little
disorient-disorient-disoriented.

67 minutes?! I'd better get out of here.

Of course.

(BUZZES)

(WHISTLES NONCHALANTLY)

(SNAPS)

- Can you hear me?
- (SQUEAKS)

Find an ore sample pod.
There should be plenty strewn around the crash site.

Initiate the homing procedure and bring help. OK?

- (SQUEAKS)
- Good luck, boy.

Shoo! Go on!

(WHITE NOISE)

- OK. I'm here. What's the beef?
- We've got a visitor.

- What?!
- A pod arrived about 20 minutes ago.

Something was in it, but it's broken free.

- Any ideas?
- Well, I don't want to spread any panic or alarm.

What do you mean "don't want to spread panic and alarm"?

Well, you've always had this thing
against tarantulas, haven't you?

Tarantulas?

I mean, you've never been overly
fond of them as a species, have you?

- Well, no.
- And the prospect of waking up

and finding one crawling
over your clammy, naked, helpless body

has always filled you with a kind of, cold dread?

Well, yeah. What are you trying to say to me, Holly?

I'm saying it might not be your night.

Look at this. This is the best shot
security cameras could get.

- Where is it now?
- We lost it.

- What does Kryten think?
- Kryten's off moon-hopping with Rimmer.

Radio link's down. I'll keep trying.

So, what's the problem?
Hey, you OK? You look tense.

You're playing that dumb adventure game.

Then buy a potion from Gandalf,
the master wizard. That's what I usually do.

Kryten, man, take it easy.
I'm gonna get you outta there.

(KRYTEN) My legs, I can't feel them.

Yeah, they're trapped under this stanchion.

- I'm gonna have to cut you in two.
- Begging your pardon, sir?

Kryten, man. Keep still. I'm trying to draw a line here.

I don't want it to go all wonky.
Use as much of you as possible.

Sir, a couple of brief points. Firstly,
you are not a qualified service engineer

and consequently sawing me in two
will invalidate my guarantee.

Secondly, I wouldn't trust you to open
a can of sardines that was already open.

Ooh! You're right! He really isn't dead!

I owe you 20.

- Kryten, you OK?
- I think so, sir.

There's a few bits and bobs left over,

but it's always the same when you try a bit of do-it-yourself, isn't it?

- Where's Mr Rimmer?
- We were just gonna ask you that.

- What happened?
- Well, there are gaps.

I remember Mr Rimmer spotted an S3 planet on the scope
and wanted to claim it on behalf of the Space Corps.

As usual, the ceremony
consisted of planting the flag

and singing all 23 stanzas
of the Space Corps anthem.

Then the planet started to erupt around us,
which, frankly, came as something of a relief.

- A moonquake?
- Worse.

It was as if the entire planet was reshaping,
terraforming itself as we watched.

- And then?
- Then things got a bit sketchy.

I remember an explosion and then blackness.
And then I remember Mr Rimmer screaming.

I have an image of his face
twisted with fear, pain, anguish, dread...

absolutely mortified.

Did someone suggest
he pick up the tab for lunch?

Something took him. Something awful.

Can we track him Holly, can
you get a trace on his light bee?

Got him. Klick and a half due south.

Suggest we continue the journey by land, sir.
I'll lower the caterpillar tracks.

I think I've just worked out
what that missing circuit board is for, sir.

This is one weird place.
Strange animal noises,

unbearable stench, squelchy underfoot...

It's just like your laundry basket at the end of the month.

- Getting anything?
- My guess is this is a psi-moon.

- Psi-moon?
- An artificial planetoid.

It tunes into an individual psyche
and adapts its terrain to mimic his mental state.

In this instance I believe it reconfigured itself

using Mr Rimmer's subconscious as a template.

- What are you saying to me, Kryten?
- We are interlopers inside Mr Rimmer's mind.

(BLOOD-CURDLING ROAR)

This sounds like a 12-change-of-underwear trip.

If this planet's Rimmer's mind, what is it that took him?

All his neuroses, all his personal demons
will be incarnated here, made flesh.

- Example?
- Well, each person's mindscape is unique,

but we could well encounter, say, Mr Rimmer's lust
personified as some kind of slobbering rampaging beast.

Rimmer's lust monster?

Urrgh!

Every individual's mental landscape
is dominated by one drive.

In some cases, it might be ambition.
In others greed, envy, or the desire to please.

Whatever it is that took Mr Rimmer, we can
only pray that its intentions are benign.

Come on, he can't be in that much
danger. I mean, he's a hologram.

Not here. Here he will have
a physical form until he leaves.

Any danger he may be in will be very real indeed.

Look, I don't know who you are,
or what you think you're doing,

but I demand my
right to a phone call.

Yes, I thought that'd stop you. I thought the threat of legal action
would have you running for cover.

Look, I'm trying to keep my temper, but you
really are pushing your luck, miladdikins.

Is this the British embassy?
Does it even look the remotest bit like the British embassy?

I want to know who you are, what I'm doing here, and I want to know now.

(UNEARTHLY VOICE) In accordance with the appetites
of the Dark One, the vicious ruler of this domain,

we, the hooded legions,
proffer up this sacrifice

to slake the vile depraved thirstings
of the Unspeakable One.

Well, that's cleared that up.

Oh! Thank God. Thank God.

There were some very, very strange men running around in black hoods

with drums and rather unconvincing red eyes.

Thank God you're here. You know, I actually thought I was in the most awful danger.

Is it me or has it suddenly got
rather hot in here?

What's happening,
why have we stopped?

I don't like the look of that swamp, sir.
I don't think it'll support the 'Bug.

- I suggest we continue the journey on foot.
- You mean, go out there?

Out into Rimmer's
subconscious?!

According to the signal,
we're almost on top of him.

- Shouldn't be more than two or three hundred metres.
- Remember, it's Rimmer's mind out there.

Expect sickness.

I'm a second technician in the Space Corps, I'm briefed
to give you my name and number and nothing more.

I don't know who you people are,
or what you think you're playing at,

but I'm not going to
give you anything else.

You can oil me all you like, you can use your
tongues and your full sensual lips to caress my erogenous zones

onto a plateau of sexual ecstasy.

But I'll tell you now -
this nut's not for cracking.

However, far be it from me
to change your game plan.

If you absolutely insist on using erotic persuasion
to achieve your devious ends, then so be it.

Just have a large quattro formaggio pizza
with extra olives ready at the end.

Er, where are you going?

Er, what are you doing?

My God! Are you going to take a flying leap?!

- We are going to summon the Master.
- The Master?

You have been prepared for him.

This Master character - and I acknowledge
I may not want to know the full answer to this one -

why does he want me oiling particularly?

Obviously, whatever he has in mind is
facilitated by my being slippery and pliant. Yes?

He always likes his victims to be oiled. An oiled body is so much better for conducting the electricity.

Not the best news, but it could've been worse.

(RESOUNDING CLANG)

Why I ever agreed to go for a stroll
in Rimmer's psyche I will never know.

Oh, terrific. This gets better and better.

Is it me or are those frogs saying "useless"?

(FROGS) Useless. Rimmer. Rimmer. Useless...

Hey, look at this. You've got a huge great
blood-sucking leech on your neck.

It's got a human face.

It's Rimmer's mum!

Sit, come quickly. I think I've found a metaphor.

- A what?
- Look at all these gravestones.

"Here lies self-respect, died aged 24."

They're all aspects of Rimmer's personality
which are dead.

"Honour - gone but not forgotten,
died aged 12."

Look at this. This one's minute!

- Check this one, this one's freshly dug.
- Who's it for?

Oh, psychologically speaking, Mr Rimmer may
be in far bigger trouble than any of us ever suspected.

If we don't get to him before this grave is filled,
we may never get out of this nightmare.

(DEEP RUMBLING GROWL)

Boy, am I glad to see you.

You must be the Unspeakable One.

Just to fill you in - there's been
a gigantic administrative cock-up.

Some of your staff have somehow
mistaken me for a virgin.

(ECHOING VOICE) Stop your putrid whining,
you dank tuft of rectal pubic hair!

Sorry, yes. I do tend to jabber on a bit when I'm nervous.

I've never been partial to physical torture.

It's actually always been one of my...
worst nightmares, actually.

Now all your nightmares
will come true here. All of them!

He's got to be somewhere here. We should be right on top of him.

(BLOOD-CURDLING GROWL)

Whatever that was, let's hope it's had lunch.

- It's right below us.
- (RIMMER) Who are you?

- Here.
- (RIMMER) And why are you being so horrible to me?

It is you who created me,
nurtured me, helped me grow strong.

I am the part of you that hates yourself.

I am your self-loathing.

- My self-loathing?
- Is it not true that you despise yourself?

That you detest
your own incompetence and stupidity?

That you hold yourself in contempt for your
countless failures and disappointments?

Is it not true that you feel nothing
but the deepest, blackest rancour

for that walking vomit stain
the world calls Arnold Rimmer?

Is it not true?

(SQUEAKS) Yes.

Look, we've got two choices.

Either we go in there, with bazookoids blazing,
and somehow try and get him out of there

or we sit here like lemons
and watch him get tortured.

Anybody got any opera glasses?

Set bazookoids to kill, stuff and mount.

We're going in. Kryten?

(GUNFIRE AND EXPLOSIONS)

(ROARS)

Is it my turn now?

Reload!

Sir, another barrage of bazookoid fire
could start a rockslide and bury us all.

- Reload!
- You'd risk your lives for me?

Of course. You're part of the crew.

(WAILS)

What happened?

- Weird!
- Where'd he go?

There's an old android saying
which I believe is peculiarly appropriate here.

In binary language, it goes something like this:

001100111011100011110011100111100

which roughly translated means, "Don't stand
around jabbering when you're in mortal danger."

- (RIMMER) Which way?
- Well, we go right at the Swamp of Despair,

straight past the Wood of Humiliation and
then hard left at the Chasm of Hopelessness.

You're a weird guy, you know that?

Why are you all looking at me
like that. Like as if this is all my fault?

Have you any idea what kind of day I've had?
I've been kidnapped, stripped, oiled,

menaced, manacled, licked,
nibbled, chained, tortured, humiliated,

and I nearly had a knobbly thing the
size and shape of a Mexican agave cactus

jammed up where only
customs men dare to probe.

- Don't you know what this place is?
- Yes, it's a hell-hole, it's a nightmare.

It's a stinking infested pit of putridness.

Rimmer, it's your mind.

He's right, sir. This is a psi-moon.

Its terrain was landscaped by your psyche.

So... So what are you saying to me?

That thing, that beast...
that lives inside my mind?

- Metaphorically, yes, sir.
- Self-loathing?

I don't loathe myself.
What is there one could possibly loathe about me?

Would you like the list, sir?

What list?

Well, there's the fact that you were despised by
your parents for failing to achieve their standards.

The fact that your three brothers were all such high-flyers in the Space
Corps, and you ended up servicing chicken soup machines.

There's your inability to form long-term
relationships with anyone, your cowardliness,

your lack of charm, honour or grace

and the awful knowledge
that throughout your entire life, no one has ever truly liked you

because you are so fundamentally unlikeable.

Oh, that.

Please don't interrupt, sir.
I'm only halfway through my list.

- Now, where was I? Oh yes-
- I think he's got the point, Kryten.

God! I'm such a mess.

- (ENORMOUS THUD)
- What was that?

- Trouble, we've hit quicksand, we're being sucked down.
- (LISTER) Hit the retros!

Can't get any lift, but they're keeping us stable.
Ten minutes before they burn out.

OK. I say let's get into the jet-powered rocket pants
and Junior Birdman the hell out of here.

An excellent and inventive suggestion, sir,
with just two tiny drawbacks -

(A) we don't have
any jet-powered rocket pants,

and (B) there's no such thing
as jet-powered rocket pants

outside the fictional serial
"Robbie Rocket Pants".

Well, that's put a crimp
on an otherwise damn fine plan.

Hang on. I'm getting a powerful energy emission.

(ECHOING VOICE) Hand over the worm
and your lives will be spared.

My quarrel is not with you.

It's with that excremental smear
who cowers amongst you.

If you attempt to shield him,

then I shall unleash the full, terrible fury
of my hooded hordes against you.

You have ten minutes.

- Where are you going?
- Where do you think I'm going?

You heard him. If I don't hand myself over, he's
going to throw everything he's got at Starbug.

What? You're really
going to give yourself up?

No. I'm going down to the engine room
to cower behind one of the boilers.

I suggest you all find ingenious
places to tremble behind, too.

If you want my opinion, the only way
anyone's gonna get out of here alive

is by working out some
way of killing that thing.

How? The bazookoids were totally
ineffective against it. It's invulnerable.

- We're finished.
- (BOOM)

Increase retros to max. Now stable.

Wait a minute... (CLEARS THROAT)

This is all your fault, you know,
you little glob of tuberculotic sputum.

(THUNDEROUS CRASH)

Ah, interesting.

Sir, you are a cruddy little scudball
with all the innate lovability of an itchy verruca.

- (RESOUNDING THUD)
- Excellent.

Mr Lister, Cat, confabulation in the cockpit.

- Er, not you, sir.
- (POUNDING THUD)

Sirs, I think I have it. The real enemy
is not out there. it is in Starbug with us.

The real enemy is inside Mr Rimmer's head.

Nice plan. So we remove his head
and everything's cool, right?

No, wait a minute.
That's gone right up my flagpole, Kryten.

- I'm saluting that one.
- What?

When we first drove back
the beast in the cavern,

it wasn't bazookoid fire
that forced him into the pit.

- It was when you told Rimmer that we wouldn't desert him.
- Precisely.

So if we make Rimmer feel wanted, feel cared about...

If we can make him feel good about himself,
somehow restore his self-esteem and his pride,

that would automatically vanquish the self-loathing beast,

or at least debilitate it long enough
for us to break free of this quicksand

and get off this
god-forsaken psi-moon.

How do we make him feel good?
What is there about him to feel good about?

- We've got to tell him we love him.
- Oh! You're sick!

- I want no part of this depravity.
- And he must not suspect we are insincere.

Our lives depend on it. Ready?

I'll never be ready.

Listen, we've been talking and the three of us have decided
to stay with you and face the danger.

- All for one and that, y'know?
- Really?

Sir, I'd just like to take this opportunity to say
that you are a very beautiful person.

What he means is that we're
all facing certain death here,

and I think it's about time we let each other
know exactly how we feel about each other.

You think that's a good idea?

- It's just that guys generally aren't terrific at, you know...
- Expressing their feelings.

Yeah. They kid around
and insult each other and stuff.

And what they really mean is...
Well, they can't say the stuff they really mean.

- What are you trying to tell me?
- I'm just trying to say, that whatever happens here

I want you to know... I really care about you.

We all do, sir.

It's true. They really do care about you.

Only this morning you referred to me
a cancerous polyp on the anus of humanity.

In an affectionate way.

In a kidding around, joking, friendly, affectionate way.

Sir, what he's trying to say is, we may never get
another opportunity to articulate our feelings,

and, for one, I would like to take this opportunity
to say that you're a splendid man,

a much-respected colleague
and a, goshdarn it, damn good friend!

- We're getting some lift.
- Wait a minute.

- I know why you're doing this.
- Going down.

You're trying to make me feel guilty,
aren't you? It's a transparent attempt

to shame me into doing
the honourable thing.

- Get outta town. That's ridiculous.
- Not at all. No, what gave you that idea?

- Why, then?
- Our number's up here.

And I don't want to go out without setting the record straight.

It's not easy saying this one man to another,
but... I love you, man.

- I really, really love you.
- Going up.

I think it might be a good idea at this time if we try and
get into a kind of four-way hug situation.

What's wrong with you?

I don't think people touch enough,
sir. I think people should touch more.

I love you, Arnie. This is a beautiful man, Big Man.

- This is a beautiful moment.
- You're a big man. We love you, AJ!

Quick get in the cockpit.
There's something very strange happening out there.

(UPLIFTING MUSIC)

Charge, my hordes of darkness.
Bring me the head of the Despicable One.

(FEROCIOUS SHOUTING)

Have at you, Bitterness!

Take that, Self-Doubt!

Die like the dog you are, Mistrust!

Feel my blade, Loneliness.
May your foulness rot in hell.

We're getting some lift.

20 metres, that's enough for lift-off.

We're almost clear.

- It was all baloney, wasn't it?
- Well, what was?

All that hugging stuff back there.
It was just a way of escaping, wasn't it?

I mean, you didn't really feel that
deep down I'm an OK sort of bloke,

that I'm not such a bad
old stick once you get to know me.

You didn't really mean
any of that, did you?

(ALL THREE) No.

# 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 #