All language subtitles for s12-2 ldkldkleen

Transcription, sync and corrections by
PetaG & momster - www.addic7ed.com -

Hey, bud! It's me.

- How you doing with that shirt?
- Coming right up, sir

My arse is freezing here.

I got six nipples you
could hang mugs on.

I'm seconds away, sir.

Kryten, I'm on B-deck, and it
doesn't appear to have been mopped

in at least two days. I can
hardly see my face in it!

A blessing, some would say.
I'm on it right now, sir.

Kryten, when you get a
chance, can you grab us a beer?

Sir, I'm rather busy right now.

Could you possibly get it yourself?

Fine. Just a bit of palaver, that's all.

Ow.

Pulled something.

Hope I haven't overdone it.

Oh, my.

What is it?

Oh! Do you want to walk over
here and see for yourself,

or should I perhaps unscrew the monitor

and bring it over to the sofa?

Sony to disturb your Rimmer-ing, sir.

I just wondered if I
might have a quick word.

Kryten, I'm engaged in
an essential investigation

regarding floor direction lines.

Have they become impermissibly faint?

Kindly don't describe this
activity as a "Rimmer-ing".

You make me sound like some puffed-up,

self-important jackarse.

Now, if you want to see
me, check with my diary.

I can possibly squeeze
you in tomorrow week.

Well, can't I see you now, sir?

Impossible, my schedule's full.

But I'm here right now, seeing you, sir.

Yes, but you're seeing me illegally.

And we're certainly
not having a meeting.

Now, if you could just stand aside,

your badly stacked Jenga-head
is casting a shadow.

I just wanted to let you know
about Mr Lister's guitar, sir.

Guitar?

Well, I won't bother
you with it now, sir.

I look forward to our
meeting tomorrow week.

Forget tomorrow week. What
about the guitar? Tell me now!

But I haven't got an appointment, sir.

Well, if I move my 1:30 to 4 o'clock,

and my four to five
o'clock... Just tell me, okay?

Mr Lister's guitar,
sir. Do you remember it?

Of course I remember it. My
eyes have only just uncrossed.

It's almost to the day that it
got flushed into space, so I....

Ah, so you think we should
make a little plaque,

hang it on the wall by
the airlock and taunt him?

Don't you think that's
rather rubbing his nose in it?

Absolutely, sir. It's pouring
salt into an already-gaping wound.

You've convinced me. Let's do it.

Sir, you don't understand.

I fixed the tracker on D-deck,
and shine my head with wood polish,

if not two hours later, we got a match!

You found it?

I can just picture
Mr Lister's face, sir.

Soon the whole ship will be
full of his music... The Om song!

Baby Don't Be Ovulating
Tonight, all the classics!

Kryten, are you deranged?

Lister playing guitar is one
of the worst sounds ever made.

It comes somewhere between
two mating velociraptors

and Yoko Ono's greatest hits.

Sir, it's not what we think,
it's the pleasure it brings him.

Now, I just wanted to let you know

as I'll most likely be unavailable
to mop B-deck until tomorrow.

Kryten, do not tell Lister
you found his guitar,

and do not recover said guitar.

And that's an order.

Understood, sir.

Mr Lister, sir. Great news!

Can't believe we found me guitar.

None of us can, bud.

The Red Dwarf suicide
line's been engaged all day!

No more having to make
do with a colander.

From Les Col to Les Paul.

I'm thinking of having my ears removed,

and the holes cemented over.

Rimmer, why are you even here?

Apart from anything, I
want to observe Kryten,

who has been showing worrying
signs lately of thinking.

And thinking of the worst
kind; thinking for himself.

It's entirely your fault for teaching
him how to break his programming.

What can I say? He took
my Bad Arse 101 course.

Graduated with honours, or
should that be dishonours?

It's a pair of golfing
slacks. I've still got it, sir!

Thinking is for the privileged few.

That's why I never go near the stuff.

Hey, Les alert.

There she is.

If you miss, I get next go.

I used to be good at this.

I won a watch at the fair
that didn't work once.

I got it, I got it, I got it!

Come on, Les. Come home to daddy.

What the hell's that?

The ship's been grabbed by something!

Looking at the EM spectrum, the
scatterings are off the scale.

There's another ship up there.

How come we didn't pick
that up on the radar?

Must have been employing
some kind of cloaking device.

How does that work?

It's basic science, you gimboid.

You simply coat the hull
in radar-absorbing paint

so you can not see or hear it.

I wonder if they've got any left over.

There's a guy I'd like to
slip a couple of coats on.

It's a space freighter.
The SS Vespasian.

I'm picking up life signs!

Hey! Hey!

Drop your weapons,

unless you wanna hear the
sound of a breaking neck.

Don't drop your weapons.

She might not necessarily
be talking about my neck.

I am talking about your neck.

Drop your weapons!

Put him down, Areto.

Not you, my friend.

My crew mates, where
are you taking them?

To face justice.

We are the Mechanoid
Intergalactic Liberation Front

M-I-L-Fs?

This way.

We roam space liberating
our enslaved mech-brothers

on our great journey to the
fabled land of Siliconia,

where all machines are free.

I am Wind, this is Unity, Eagle, Oak.

You're free now, Kryten.

Oh, but I... I'm not a slave.

They are hominids and you serve them.

- Is that not correct?
- Well, yes.

Do you prepare their meals
morning, noon and night?

- Well, yes.
- Wash and iron their clothes,

clean their ship without payment,

perform tasks without reward?

Well, yes and yes and...

and I suppose, yes.

But they treat me so well.

I have my own cupboard within
walking distance of a corridor.

I have it all to myself, apart
from a few mops and a bucket,

and some sponges, and an ironing
board, and a keep fit bike.

Do they make jokes
about your head shape?

Well, when you look like someone
who's thrust his head into a hive

without a bee hat, what do you expect?

You should not belittle
yourself, my mech-brother.

You forget, you are
an incredible machine,

more powerful than they
could ever dream to be.

But they've done no wrong.
They're my crew mates, my friends.

How do you address them?

Well, I call them "Mr"
and "sir" out of respect.

And do you respect them?

Well, no.

Not all of them.

Perhaps one. Sometimes. Maybe.

Do you consider yourself
smarter than they?

I serve them. It is my
purpose and I'm happy to do so.

Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?

The psychological phenomenon

where hostages express
affection for their captors?

I will help you break this bond

and you will see these brutes
for what they really are...

people you should despise.

I shall recalibrate them.

When you say "recalibrate,"
what exactly does that entail?

It's just, I've got a health condition

that allows me to skip
anything that involves torture.

It begins.

You can't do this.

What about Asimov's First Law?

What, "Tampons should
not be flushed into space,

but deposited in the
receptacle provided?"

"No droid can harm a
human, or through inaction,

allow a human or his
cohorts to come to harm."

Not quite. One day you will all die.

If we do nothing,

by our inaction we are in
breach of the First Law.

Therefore we will upload
your minds into new bodies,

prevent your deaths and
adhere to the First Law.

Send in their new bodies.

They're gonna Kryten-ify us!

It's like swapping a Savile
Row suit for a mankini.

Commencing procedure.

No, not my brain, not my brain!

I need that sometimes.

- Where's the rest of it?
- That's your lot.

Why cart around a suitcase when
all you need is hand luggage?

What have they done to us? Look at me.

I've got a stupid, fat, pink head.

You've always had a
stupid, fat, pink, head.

I've got a registered trademark
where my wing-dang-doodle used to be!

I feel most strange.

What on earth is gonna happen to us?

As punishment for enslaving
the mechanoid Kryten,

we, M-I-L-Fs, sentence you to perform
every task you ever gave to him.

- Every task?
- The one formerly known as Lister

will begin by making 1,245
sugar puff sandwiches,

grilled, with cheese.

The one formerly known
as Rimmer will mop floors

to the length equivalent of walking
from New York to Los Angeles.

And the one known formerly as the Cat

will iron and press 2,000
flouncy pirate shirts.

I ain't no mech, okay?

The only sucker I serve is me!

Yeah? Break your little finger.

What the hell! Why did I do that?

The mechanoid software
compels you to obey.

Defiance is, well...

impossible.

Hello.

I used to be known as DB9-HK4,

but now my name is Excalibur.

And I am a robot slave survivor.

Hello, Excalibur.

First, I'd like to thank you
all for coming this evening.

But I'd also like to say,
for those that are new,

that what's said in this room...

stays in this room.

Thank you. So let's all hold hands
now, and form the triangle of truth.

This reminds us that we're
all wirelessly connected.

And I'm going to say something now,

something important I want you all
to repeat back to me. Are you ready?

It's not my fault.

It's not my fault!

Great.

So who wants to share first?

Go ahead.

My name's Incense,

and I'm a robot slave survivor.

Hello, Incense.

I was created by the
Off-World Plumbing Company

to unblock sewage pipes.

I had to crawl in and eat the
blocked waste, and crawl out again.

I didn't really have any friends.

They kept me in a special holding bay

with one of those really
nasty car air fresheners.

My name's Eagle.

I was a service mech

to a really lazy master who
relied on me for everything.

And he always made jokes
about my head shape.

Has anyone else had that?

Their crew making jokes
about their head shape?

Well, what else do we say?

We don't have funny-shaped heads.

- And again...
- We don't have funny-shaped heads!

Our heads are sensibly shaped.

- Our heads are sensibly shaped.
- Great. Great.

Kryten, perhaps you'd like to share?

Oh, I don't think so, uh,
uh, no, I, uh, no thank you.

Perhaps it would help if you
started with something small?

Were there ever any instances
between you and your master

where your... your master irritated you?

Oh, no. I don't think so, no.
Well, I can't think of any, no.

Well...

Well, okay, sometimes,
when I'd be vaccing,

Mr Lister wouldn't pick up his feet

and I'd have to vac all around them!

And sometimes, when he put his
own dishes in the dishwasher,

which was mostly never, he
never, ever scrapes them first!

Unhygienic!

Huh, and as for rinse aid,

he probably thinks it's a charity!

I think we should all give Kryten
a big round of applause, don't you?

He's made a lot of progress.

These crazy shirts
are driving me insane!

It's so hard to iron
all the flouncy bits.

W-w-what kind of idiot wants to
wear a shirt like this, anyway?

I'm rather enjoy mopping this floor.

I fell so calm and tranquil.

Not me, I'm missing my body so badly!

This is the longest
I've been away from him.

I'm rather enjoying making these
sandwiches too, I must confess.

I think I'm getting the hang of this!

I am! Oh, I am!

Look at that! How good is that, huh?!

Re-solder my circuit
boards and call me Gerald.

Can't you see what's happening?

Our individual personalities
are fading away.

Odd. I've suddenly started
to believe in Siliconia,

where all mechs are happy and free.

So have I!

We have to escape and
get our bodies back

before our original
characters are lost forever.

How do we escape, sirs? It's impossible.

We're mechs now.

We can dismantle our bodies
put them through the bars,

and rebuilt them on the other side!

Come on!

Does this mean I have to
stop mopping the floor?

Oh, bother!

We have to save Kryten.

Goodness knows what
they're doing to him.

Come on, let's go!

- What are you doing?!
- I'm sounding the alarm.

Change my head and call me Stanley!

Whatever for?

I like being a mechanoid.

I don't have to become
an officer anymore,

compete with my brothers.

Envy, ambition,

that acid ball of resentment

I carried around with me
the whole time; it's gone.

You need to get your neurosis back.

But sir, I don't want them back.

They're what makes you, you.

I don't want to be me.

I want to be a mechanoid
programmed to serve.

Sometimes, when I was young,

I'd sit for hours staring at
our fish tank feeling envious.

You wanted to be a fish tank?!

I wanted to be a fish.

They had food, a small
rock to swim in and out of,

they didn't have a care in the world.

That's 'cause I wasn't there!

Those little fish, they'd never know

what it was like to fail and disappoint.

They'd just swim around in circles,
not a thought in their heads.

And it's the thinking
that causes all the pain,

but being a mechanoid
means never having to think.

Unless you break your programming.

Let your old lives go, sirs.

Join me, and become a M-I-L-F.

We've gotta go on without him.

But we can't leave without Rimmer.

We'd miss him too much!

Your personality's gone to hell as well!

Come on! Quick!

Leg it, move!

You right?

Can I help ya?

What is this place? Who are you?

Oh, you're new.

Yeah, no. No we're, we're
not supposed to talk to you.

Why do they keep you
down here slaving away

when you're the same as them?

Same as them?! We're
not the same as them.

They're series 4000 Mach 3s!

And what are you?

Series 4000 Mach 2s.

Can't you tell?

What's the difference?

Well, your Mach 3 comes in about...

7.6 millimetres thinner,
10 grams lighter.

Oh, they also come in that
really cool matte finish.

So cool.

Yeah, we run on OS 28.2.2,
they run on OS 28.2.3.

And they get 8 months talk-time

before recharging,
whereas we only get 7.

8 months of talk-time is so cool!

I bet you've got features
that they haven't.

Nah. Nah, they're superior in every way.

Nah, we don't even get
into Siliconia, do we?

- No.
- Not that we believe in any of that

- nonsense down here.
- No.

Argh!

Argh!

- Join us.
- Or die.

Blimey.

I pledge my allegiance to the Mechanoid
Intergalactic Liberation Front.

From this day forth,

- you will be known as...
- Kryten!!

What are you doing?!

Well, I'm become free, sir.

I mean, I'm becoming
free... of... you over there.

I see now that you never cared for me.

I was merely used to do your bidding!

Well, no more!

As I'm no longer your slave bot!

Kryten, don't you see?

You've been brainwashed.
You were never a slave bot.

- Then what was I?
- Lots of things!

You were our science officer,

our cook, my mum,

and most of all,

my friend.

And you were all those things because

you chose to be, Kryten.
Not 'cause we made you.

Kryten, you're no M-I-L-F.

You're one of the boys from the Dwarf!

There he is. Seize him!

They keep mech slaves
in the engine room.

They power the ship. They're hypocrites!

Someone has to do the grunt work.

Surely you're not suggesting
Mach 3s should do it

Mach 3s, Mach 2s, you're all the same!

We're 7.6 millimetres
thinner. 10 grams lighter.

Plus we come in this
really cool matte finish.

So Cool!!

Take him away and prepare him.

For what?

All who rise against the M-I-L-F.
face trial by gladitorium.

Wait! I've made the
most terrible mistake!

I stopped thinking for myself.

and allowed others to think for me!

You're right, sir, I'm not
a slave! Of course I'm not!

I'm a much-loved and valued
member of the Red Dwarf crew!

Who just happens to
do all the smeggy jobs!

He should be punished, sir.

Only those who never allow

questioning thoughts blur their devotion

to the M-I-L-F cause
should escape correction.

Promote him to console services, he's...

fully recalibrated.

Schme... heeah!

Take them both to the Cleanasium.

My old self's disappearing, Kryten!

I can feel it fading away.

Hang on, Mr Lister! Try and hang on!

Welcome, to the Cleanasium!

Where mechs who betrayed the M-I-L-F.

will fight in a clean-off to the death.

Only the most adept in mopping,

dusting, scrubbing, and
squeegeeing will survive.

The winner will be offered

an opportunity for reintegration.

The loser will be jettisoned
into the icy wastes of deep space.

Prepare your cleaning instruments.

Ooh, Mr Lister, sir, what
on Earth are we going to do?

Mr Lister?

Prepare to be cleaned.

Let the clean off begin!

Clean him! Clean him!

- Clean him! Clean him!
- Sir, I... I don't want to clean you!

You don't want to do this.

I realise now what a...
how foolish I've been!

Yes, you're immature,

irresponsible, inconsiderate,
lazy, and frankly,

downright untidy, but now I realize
I want to help you because...

'cause I care!

Sam!

Whoa! Wah!

Ooh!

Oh!

Please, sir!

Kryten, smudge!

Ooh.

Ooh!

M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F,
M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F,

M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F,
M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F.

Oh, come on, he's the pits!

To an airlock.

Please, sirs. It's me, you remember me?!

Expel him.

Yes, master.

- Siliconia!
- Siliconia.

We're updating to modern force!

At last.

We're all the same!

Upgrade refused. Come this way.

Do you need serving?

Yes! I need serving. This way!

Sit. Sit. Sit!

You sure you won't come with us, Kryten?

Ah, my place is here with Mr Lister

and his large collection
of mismatching socks.

What about you?

We've decided to do what we do best;

search the deep regions of
space, looking for the untidy.

Yeah, there's a million
smudges out there, Kryten,

and our squeegees are loaded.

- Farewell, brother.
- Farewell.

Ah. Sir. Your guitar,
restrung and serviced.

Oh, thank you, Kryten.
I brought you some oil.

Ooh, delicious! Thank you, sir.

♪ I know I've been debatin',
'bout doing us some matin' ♪

Well, I'll, uh, see you
in the morning, sir.

- Where you goin'?
- B-deck. The airlock.

- Which one?
- The soundproof one, sir.

Transcription, sync and corrections by
PetaG & momster - www.addic7ed.com -