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It's got to be in the middle, the middle, you metal moron.

Look, this is my Vending Machine Maintenance Man Of The Month

certificate we are reframing here, my one and only Mr April.

There's no room for sloppiness.

And take that look off your face for a start.

Where's Kryten? I need him.

He's on holiday.

Holiday? - Yeah. A week off, no duties.

I thought he needed it. Lister, Kryten is a mechanoid, a machine.

Machines don't go on holiday.

Who's next? The egg whisk? Two weeks in Mauritius?

Booked him and your electric toothbrush a double room?

He was tired. Tired?

What was it? Metal fatigue?

Holiday!

Where's he gone?

Broom cupboard on V deck.

Really nice shelf. V deck? Why not B deck or C deck, somewhere close?

He wanted to travel. Didn't you read his postcard?

He's loving it. Taken his feet off,

unscrewed his head,

eyes bobbing about in a bowl of lens cleaner.

He's having the time of his life.

Tomatoes?

Supply decks.

200 floors. It took me ages to get these.

I smegging hate tomatoes - taste, texture, ugh.

Don't know why I put myself through it.

Lister, why do you eat tomatoes when you don't like them? There's plenty of other things to eat.

It's got to be tomatoes, man.

Only thing I'm allergic to.

Why do you want to eat something you're allergic to?

According to the read-outs, we're down to our last water tank. only G deck left. I'm saving water.

Have you ever been to G deck? Seen the water tank? There's loads of water left.

So how come only a trickle's coming out of the taps, then?

How does eating tomatoes save water?

It's coming.

Don't suppose you want any ironing doing, do you?

I get it.

I get it.

I love it when it makes that squish sound, don't you?

You've spent hours planning this, haven't you?

Hours, this wind-up.

Because that's exactly what it is.

Going down to the supply decks, trawling through the crates, getting half hysterical

at the thought of my face as you start to iron your sneezes.

Was it really worth it, Listy?

Hours and hours and hours of planning for eight seconds of pleasure?

Sounds like the last time you had sex.

Lister, you need to get a life.

Level.

Level.

Level.

Level.

Close.

Not level.

I thought I'd read you another book.

It's one of those stupid ones you used to really like.

Jane Oostin?

Austin?

Orsdon?

I'm not quite sure how you pronounce it.

Sense And Sensibility.

Pray to God there's some car chases in this one.

"The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex."

Ow!

What happened to you?

You got a minute?

Tell him.

I'm walking through the cargo deck, right, minding my own damn business

when all of a sudden... You know that big tank on G deck?

He means the water tank.

Suddenly there's a disturbance on the surface of the tank and...

..whoosh...

this massive testicle shoots up out of the water and grabs me by the throat.

He means "tentacle". I hope so.

Before I know it, I'm flying through the air, being waved about from side to side.

I'm shouting, I'm screaming, because this thing, whatever it is,

is absolutely ruining my hair.

Next thing I know, it pulls me down into the icy waters and I'm shouting and screaming again

because everything I'm wearing is Dry Clean Only.

Suddenly, I'm staring at this big eye.

It's about THIS big.

No, this big.

No, this big. Man, it was just...

Oh, what's the right word?

Big? Exactly.

And then the beast - because that's what it is - opens its mouth and I realised that's where I'm heading.

So I combed my hair and fainted. Came to, I'm on the floor by the side of the tank, no sign of the creature.

Ooh, I need counselling.

You've got that right.

So where did it go?

It didn't say, and it didn't leave a note.

This is so weird. It's not THAT weird.

Probably can't even write.

How'd it even hold a pen with its big testicle?

It's slithered back into the water tank, hasn't it? But a sea monster?

In the water tank? That's not right.

We're in deep space.

♪ Holiday, celebrate, holiday... ♪

Hey! Surf boy is back from Broomtown.

What a vacation, sirs.

I can't remember the last time I was so relaxed and utterly carefree.

There's a big monster in the water tank. Oh, my gosh!

That's why we're down on water. We're down on water?

Yeah, and without water, me and the Cat are going to die. Yeah.

It's a disaster! Oh, my back!

I'm one giant tension knot. Someone pummel my diodes.

Hey, this thing, whatever it is, it's messing with the supply thingy pipe stuff thing, isn't it?

Please, we're laymen. Spare us the plumbing jargon.

The point is, we've got to get in there and whack it. Fritter the critter.

Kill it?! No way!

We should capture this sucker, force it to pay my dry-cleaning bills.

The point is, how DO we kill it? We can't suck it out of an air lock. We'll lose the water.

We can't mickey the water. We'd pollute the drinking supply.

No choice.

We're going to have to go in, get it.

Serious? We're going to need a diving bell,

the kind with grade-one reinforced titanium ribs.

We're going to need diving suits, bazookoids, mini-grenades, laser-lancer, blasters.

And we're going to need something good for me to read while you're all down there.

Classic Car Monthly or something. You're not coming down with us?

In spirit, I'll be down there with you.

In actuality, I'll be reading a car mag.

Well, I'd better start packing, then.

Oh, I already AM packed!

Don't look at me, I ain't going.

I'm still in trauma. Look at my suit.

It may not pull through.

Find another suit. You're going.

Hey, I'm a cat.

Nobody bosses Mr C around, buddy.

You got that, monkey boy?

Or should I explain it one more time for your small monkey brain?

How would you like it

if I flushed the entire ship's supply of tuna out of an airlock?

When are we leaving? You packed?

Come on, let me help you, man.

Come on, get going. We go in two minutes.

Two minutes? Two minutes?

I need to make myself look sensational.

Make it three. And don't wear nothing lilac or we'll clash!

Yeah, yeah, yeah! Ow-ee!

We're hitting the water, Rimmer.

What? Oh, yeah.

Hey, there's something out there. Where? I saw something moving.

My bowels, if you keep shouting like that. Oh.

It's gone. It's gone.

Rimmer, check the sonar.

Did you know that of all the Jensen Interceptors ever built, only 23 have the manual four-speed box?

It's amazing. 'Rimmer, the sonar!

'Check it, you smegger!' Is there anything down here with us?

What? No.

It's all clear, it's fine, good.

Get this, listen. "The four-wheel drive, the FF, identified by a measly

"four-inch stretch in the wheelbase, had ABS in 1966." How mad is that?

I saw something! I saw something.

I definitely saw something.

Oops.

Er, chaps...bit of an update.

There appears to be something bigger than God heading straight for you.

What is it?! How do I know? It's not like a commercial airliner with writing down the side.

Well, do something. Get us out of here.

Can't. Too scared.

Can't. Look at my hands.

YOU'RE scared?! But you're not even down here. You're safe.

Safe? I'm not safe from having to sit here and watch my sonar screen

get covered in your gloopy insides, am I?

'I'm not safe from seeing those terrible pictures in my head

'of you being eaten alive and never being able to get rid of them.

'You just think about you, don't you? It's always you with you!'

Sir, I've changed my eyeballs three times and I can't see anything.

Are you sure you're not mistaken?

Gone.

'It must have been a speck on the sonar.'

Relax. As you were.

Oh, my God.

What was that?

It's gone!

No, sir.

It's underneath us. If we're really quiet, it might think we're a rock.

(Rimmer, pull us up, slowly and quietly.)

(Rimmer, are...you... rea...ding...me?!)

(Sir, can...you...hear...us?!)

Wait, what's that?

I can't see anything!

Will you keep the noise down back there?!

Can't you see I'm looking for squid?!

I still can't see it...

Sir, may I make one tiny suggestion?

Releasing a firearm in a confined titanium steel box

may not be a good mix with human tissue.

Oh, my God!

Hang on, I'm getting you out of there.

Rimmer to the rescue, as per usual.

What would these clowns do without me, eh?

Anyone else would probably get a medal for this, the Eagle of Valour,

the Space Knight's Cross of Honour.

I bet I don't even get a book token.

Two suits in one day, look at me! Thanks to you,

I couldn't even get on the cover of Minger Monthly!

You're supposed to be manning the sonar, Rimmer!

You could have got us all killed!

Is this about you again?

It is, isn't it? Can't you see, right now I need some me time?

My heart is still hammering.

I don't know how I got through that! You wasn't even there!

I was NEARLY there.

That's close enough for me.

What the hell was that thing?

Well, some kind of dimension-migrating leviathan

looking for somewhere quiet to hibernate.

Where better than the middle of deep space

in a universe where the human race is virtually extinct?

It's extraordinary.

It's gone! Where? I don't know.

Probably to another dimension to lick its... Wait! Incoming!

What's this?

Hmm!

I bid greetings.

My name is Katerina Bartikovsky.

In past, I Red Dwarf's science officer. Zdravstvuyte!

From now, I am senior officer.

No longer hologram Arnold Rimmer who is bit crap.

What?

Look, sir. Confirmed.

Adjustment on command structure essential if one day Lister to regenerate human race, huh?

Result!

You beauty!

Why does mainframe computer not function?

Lister left a bath running in the officers' quarters.

We didn't find out about it for nearly nine years.

Then one night, it was a Tuesday, the floor gave way

and nearly two million gallons of water fell through the ship.

Not a nice way to be woken.

One minute you're lying in bed snoozing,

the next you're being washed down a corridor at 80 knots per hour.

The skutters still haven't finished drying him out.

Have skutters more pressing duties?

Duties that distract them from these tasks?

Is this you? No.

Urgh.

The place is a mess.

What has mech been doing? Kryten?

Holiday. Nice shelf on V deck.

My idea. Needed break.

Mechs don't go on holiday.

They are machines. That's what I said.

You were senior officer. It was duty to ensure efficiency of ship.

How come there are two holograms active, both hard light?

I thought the ship could only sustain one.

How does Lister pass time? Sleeps, annoys me.

Look, if there's one...

Besides sleeping and annoying you, what else he do?

Gets ready for bed.

And for entertainment?

He irons sneezes.

In fact, if he was an art student,

he'd probably be considered a genius.

Is tragedy.

His body lives but inside he is dead.

This is your fault. You killed him.

What did I do?

You responsible for his life but you do nothing. You think only of you.

I don't know whether you happened to notice, but we are in deep space,

where there isn't a whole hell of a lot to do.

There are only so many times you can play What's In The Bag?

Fish paste? Lister's trainers?

In my country, we have word for people like you.

In my country, we have several.

Hey. I've found one.

Mr Lister, please prepare.

You are to be returning home, so we have possibility to make this happen.

Are you serious?

Of course, I always serious.

Mr Rimmer? Yes.

You have 24 hours to get your affairs in order,

then you'll be offlined and your data files erased.

Then your hard drive will be fired into space

and when safe distance from ship, be detonated by nuclear fusion.

You really don't like me, do you? I do my job.

And my job is look after him.

Which, sadly, is very ungroovy news for you, you see?

Dobry vecher.

I hate her.

I like her.

I like her a lot!

She's given me 24 hours to get my affairs in order

before I'm offlined and trashed.

She's treated me like a computer virus.

Oh, she's so bright and perceptive, sir. Such a breath of fresh air.

We all have our Achilles heel.

Find hers. Start trawling the data, Kryty.

Get me some dirt on her. You know what I'm talking about, kid?

Ah, Ms Bartikovsky!

Yes, Miss Smegging Bartikovsky. Get me some dirt on her.

Er, I trust you slept well, Ms.

Not particularly, "Mzz!"

I love it when your voice unit acts up!

"Mzz, hrr, hrr!" Right, back to the dirt thing...

Your breasts look particularly good today, Ms!

My what? My bre... What are you...?

Good morning, Mzz... Miss!

You, follow me.

On my way to Dirtville, sir.

I'll catch you later.

Engage Innocent Whistle Mode.

So, as spoken, I bring Lister back to life,

restore drive so can restart human race, yes?

And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?

Isn't obvious?

You start, I'll join in.

Well, the solution is staring you in your stupid, fat, ferrety face.

We have tentacle of dimension-migrating leviathan.

We take, insert into gene reader - you have several in medi-lab -

and triangulate results with power surge readings

and temporal displacement residues recorded in water tank.

We then calculate quantum algorithm creature produced to open dimensional membrane,

then we travel multiverse.

Once computed, we have key to dimensional travel,

transpose calibrations into mining laser and, bingo jingo, we have very own dimension cutter.

That is exactly what I was going to say!

That's so spooky! So, Lister will travel to new dimension,

bring back mate, recreate human race, yes?

Word for word what I was gonna say! Hmm.

No way'll this work. I'll probably end up with your head, or someone else's legs.

Something always goes wrong, I'm not building my hopes up.

And we begin.

♪ 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. ♪

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