Original subtitles

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

Arnold!

-Arnold! -I'm here, Mother!

You know, your father and I

have been terribly worried about your progress at school.

Yes, Mother.

You just haven't been getting the marks we think you're capable of.

No, Mother.

Well, a few days ago I went to see the headmaster.

He said it might be in your best interest

if you were to be kept down a year.

If you were to stay in Junior D for another year.

Oh.

Is that all you've got to say?

Well, it's quite difficult to talk when you're tied upside down to a tree.

Have you been playing with Howard and Frank?

-Yes. -Well, what on earth were you playing?

Well, I said it was such a shame we haven't got a swing

and they said they can make one.

But I didn't realise they were going to make one out of me.

Well, that's nice, darling.

Anyway, your father had a word with the headmaster

and we explained how much we wanted you to be a test pilot in the Space Corps

like your brother John.

And how this could damage your chances.

He got this this morning. You realise how important this is?

This decision could completely alter the whole course of your life.

Oh!

-Welcome home, Ace. -Bless you, Spanners, old friend.

-It's good to be home. -Well, how did she behave?

The Light Ship? Like a frolicking filly in a harvest time pasture.

How you and your boys down in engineering got that crate

to break the light barrier, I'll never know.

Well, some people might say

it's the devilishly brave and handsome guy in the cockpit that did it.

(GIBBERISH) Nonsense!

Any old twit can have the event horizon of a black hole,

then loop-de-loop around

the spinning singularity at twice the speed of light.

Then slam the engines into reverse

and blast out of an imploding nebula.

It's you and your guys with your magic wrenches down in engineering, Spanners.

You're the ones that break the records.

You're going to this party thing

they're throwing for you tonight, I suppose?

Good God, no. Heroes welcomes with

21-gun salutes in front of the entire admiralty?

Send me to the Land of Nod, Spanners.

I'll be down in the mess with the salt of the earth engineering boys

as per usual.

-See you there at 19007 -See you later, Ace.

What a guy!

Ah, welcome home, son. You've been in all our prayers, you know.

Bless you, Padre. How's little Tommy?

He's pulled through. Be on his feet in no time, thanks to you.

Sitting by his bedside day after day, night after night,

holding his hand, reading him stories.

You know me, chaplain.

Any old excuse to get out of dinner with the admiral.

Listen, 1900. We're having a bit of a bash down in the mess.

It would mean a lot to me if you were there.

Oh, thank you, son.

-1900. -Mmm.

What a guy.

Commander Arnold Rimmer reporting for debriefing.

MELLIE: You dog, you're back.

Did you ever doubt it when I've got someone like you to come back to?

If only it were true. What are you doing lunchtime?

Not sure. Why?

Because if you're interested, I'll be in my quarters

covered in maple syrup.

I'm sorry, Mellie. I don't fraternize with the staff.

I resign.

I'll be there at 1300.

-You're back. -Afraid so.

Had the feeling you might be.

Rubber shares went up this morning.

You wanted to see me, Bongo?

Ever heard of a thing called the Dimension Theory of Reality?

Doesn't that run along the lines that there are an infinite number

of parallel universes where every possibility exists?

It's along those lines, yeah.

The basic tenet states that for every decision that's made,

the alternative decision is played out in another reality.

So?

So the lab boys have come up with a drive that can break

the speed of reality.

Those boffins have hammered

together a crate that can cross dimensions?

When do I launch?

It's a one-way ticket, Ace. There's no coming back.

I'm free at 1500.

You do realise this is a prototype? There's no way of knowing

-if it'll even get there. -Where's there exactly?

You'll be transported to an alternative reality,

a reality where there's another Arnold Rimmer.

Some decision was made at some point in your life where he went one way

and you went the other.

You might find he's quite different to you.

Sounds like quite a caper.

You'll do it?

I'm a test pilot in the Space Corps, Bongo.

It's my job to do it.

I know this probably won't interest you,

but I'd hate myself for the rest of my life

if I didn't at least suggest it.

Suggest what?

If you're interested, I'll be in my quarters at lunchtime

covered in taramasalata.

I didn't know your bread was buttered that side, Bongo.

It isn't. It's been happily married for 35 years.

It's just a chap like you can turn a guy's head.

I'm sorry, Bongo, lunch is on Mellie.

Would it make any difference if it was hummus?

I'm sorry, Bongo. I'm strictly butter side up.

Understood. What a guy.

God speed and bless you, son.

All systems check. Let's get this kite up into the big black!

Ignition. Chocks away! Bye, Bongo. Bye, Spanners.

Bye, Padre. Bye, Mellie.

Smoke me a kipper. I'll be back for breakfast.

Bye, Ace!

(WHOOSHING)

Lights!

-What? -What are you doing?

What am I doing?

Yes, what are you doing?

Just nipping down the cinema to catch the midnight movie.

-What, dressed like that? -Yeah. We're going to see Jaws.

You're going fishing, aren't you? That ocean planet we passed

two days ago. You're going fishing without me.

Come off it, man. Don't be ridiculous.

What are you doing with the lights on?

Come on, let's get out of here before...

I don't believe it. All three of you!

What's he talking about?

I don't know. For some reason, he's got this crazy

whacked out idea that we're all going on a fishing holiday.

A fishing holiday?

"Dear Rimmer, we have gone on a fishing holiday

to the ocean planet we passed two days ago.

We tried to wake you but couldn't.

See you in three weeks. L, K, and C."

Please, sir. They forced me to do it. I had no choice.

Hey, you!

Why did you want to go without me?

We didn't want to go without you. We just thought it wasn't your scene.

I mean, fishing. That's boring, isn't it?

I love fishing. The glow of the dawn. The line arcing into the water.

That's it. That's exactly the reason we didn't invite you. There's no fish.

That at least is true, sir. We sent down a search probe

and there is no marine life on the entire planet.

We're just gonna sit out on starboard, dangle the rods

over the side and have a few cans, you know, chill out.

I don't believe anybody who'd want to go on a fishing holiday

where they know there's no fish!

We used to do it all the time back home. Used to go down to the canal.

Never any fish in that.

We used to go condom fishing.

I swear. One time I caught this two-pound black-ribbed knobbier.

It was about that big.

Why didn't you just say, "Dear Rimmer, we're going on a fishing holiday

and we don't want you to come"?

See? That's what I said we should say!

I don't know what it is about me.

All my life it's been the same old story.

It's not easy, you know, to come in every night,

look in that mirror and see a guy nobody likes.

How do you think we feel? We've got to look at it all day!

We just thought you wouldn't want to come.

I try to be liked. God knows I try.

I regale you with amusing stories of when I was

treasurer of the Hammond Organ Owners Society.

You never laugh.

I offer to talk you through

my photo collection of 20th century telegraph poles.

You've always got some excuse!

None of you like Morris dancing.

Would that break your hearts every once in a while,

the four of us getting our knees

up in the air, the jingle of bells, the clonk of wood on wood?

But no. Every time I suggest it, you all pretend to be ill.

You got it wrong, man. We just thought you wouldn't want to come.

Now we know you do, great.

You can come.

The way you're going on about it, it's like some major conspiracy

we been planning for days. We haven't.

-Really? -Really.

All right then, I'll come. I'll just get dressed. Holly?

Ugh, who woke him up?

(WHOOSHING)

RIMMER: Steady now, Kryten. KRYTEN: Yes, sir.

Best to get there in one piece than to rush it and cause an accident?

I have passed my test, sir. I am a fully qualified pilot.

-Mind that star. -That star is over two light years away.

We're nowhere near it.

There's no percentage in being a boy racer, Kryten.

Okay, you've passed your test. Mind that planet!

-Which planet? -That planet.

That's... That's the planet we're heading to, sir.

Excellent, excellent. Plot an orbital course, we'll be there in no time.

-Yes, sir. I have done, sir. -Yes, and get the second stage underway.

-I already have done, sir. -But you haven't correlated the data

-with the main computer banks, have you? -Yes, sir. I have, sir.

-Do you know your trouble, Kryten? -What, sir?

You're a git.

Stupid.

Three weeks stuck with Captain Yawn.

Look, it wasn't my fault.

Could have talked our way out of it if you hadn't blown

-the whole gaffe. -Me? What did I do?

You're the one who woke him up.

I could've sweet talked me way out of it, but oh, no.

You had to come blundering in with your size 12s.

You are so two-faced.

Why haven't you got the guts just to tell the dude nobody likes him?

Oh, yeah, great, brilliant. What am I supposed to say?

Excuse me, man.

Do you know you're about as popular as a horny dog

in a Miss Lovely Legs competition?

That's what I'd do. I'd say... Hi, buddy! How's it going?

I just had to get out of there. He's driving me nuts.

I cannot stand front seat drivers.

Come on, there's not a lot going on in here. We're on holiday.

Let's cheer things up a bit.

How about some music?

I've brought my Hammond CDs with me.

How about Reggie Wilson Plays the Lift Music Classics?

What about Sounds of the Supermarket, 20 Shopping Greats?

Has anyone seen the keys to the medical cabinet?

I feel the sudden urge to suffocate myself

with a two-pound black-ribbed knobbier.

Not Reggie Wilson, please, Rimmer.

You don't like Reggie Wilson? What?

Not even Pop Goes Delius or Funking Up Wagner?

I prefer something slightly more melodious like the long,

drawn-out death rattle

of a man suffering from terminal flatulence.

Come on, you bores, let's do something.

How about we all sing some camp-fire songs?

# Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya #

Everyone. Kryten.

# Kumbaya, Kumbaya #

-Purple Alert! Purple Alert! -What's a Purple Alert?

It's sort of like not as bad as a Red Alert

but a bit worse than a Blue Alert.

Like a Mauve Alert. But I don't want to say Mauve Alert...

Holly, wipe the rabid foam from your chin and start again.

There's some sort of disruption to the time fabric continuum.

At least, I presume that's what it is. It's certainly got all the signs.

There's this big wibbly-wobbly swirly thing

that's heading straight towards us.

-What is it? -I don't know, sir.

Whichever way I maneuver, it follows us.

It seems to be locked in on us.

Wait, there's something coming out of it.

It's going to hit us. Collision course!

Emergency! Emergency! Adopt crash procedure!

-Where's the card? Who's got the card? -What card?

The plastic card. The plastic card

with the cartoons of the crash procedure on it.

Don't panic, man.

It should be in the netting behind the seats. Haven't we got to sit

behind a woman clutching a baby?

What's the drill?

-Look, I know what it is. -What?

Sit down, tuck your head between your legs and brace yourself.

Now what?

Then you open the in-flight magazine and start reading.

The dullness of the articles act as a sedative.

I mean, look at this contents list.

"Salt, an epicure's delight. Classic wines of Estonia.

Flemish weaving, the traditional way."

Don't fight it, man. Let it take you.

How can you be so mind bogglingly flippant?

Don't you know what's going to happen?

We're going to crash!

You've got to stay calm.

It's a well-known fact that the more relaxed you are,

the less likely you are to be injured.

Good luck, everybody. Here it comes!

"The ancient Egyptians were great believers in the salts..."

"When most people think of classic wines,

they are unlikely to consider the Estonian reds,

yet Estonian grapes are among the fruitiest and most subtle..."

"Since the beginning of the 13th century,

Belgium has been the home of some of the most remarkable weaving to come out

of northwest Europe."

(DRAMATIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)

-Is everyone all right? -Yes, thank God, I'm fine.

-Cat! -It's bad, buddy. It's real bad.

See what I mean? Red with apricot.

I look like a jerk.

I'm bleeding an unfashionable color.

Had I known I was going to get my leg crushed, I would have worn white.

It goes with anything.

Is anything broken?

Yeah, the stitching's coming away and the lining's ripped.

Somebody, please, get me a tailor.

Kryten, get the first aid box. Let's clean this up.

Make sure he doesn't get gangrene.

Gangrene? You think I might get gangrene?

Yeah.

Hey, that might work.

Green with apricot. I think I could pull that off.

It's a break, sir. Quite a bad one.

I'm going to have to snap the bone back into line

and there's no an aesthetic.

Here, read the in-flight magazine.

"Salt. An epicure's delight..."

-(BONE CRUNCHING) -Oh, my God!

Did it hurt?

No, I'm talking about the article. Have you done my leg yet?

Holly, what's the damage?

Doesn't look good.

We've lost the port engine, the starboard engine's packed up,

the fuel line's severed, we're taking in water through the hull

we lost the landing jets, half the electric's out

and the elastic's snapped on the furry dice.

What does that mean in real terms?

Well, it means you've got a more tasteful cockpit.

But unless you fix that starboard engine in the next 40 minutes,

we're gonna start sinking.

Anything we can do?

We can try and hire a dance band, get it to play

Abide with Me.

I'm going to have to go out there and fix the engine.

You don't know anything about engines.

Besides there's a 40-knot gale out there.

You'd have to be insane to even attempt it.

Only a fool or a hero would even consider it.

Bingo! Down there. They've dished into the drink. I'm bailing out, computer.

COMPUTER: But Ace, it's a suicide mission!

I caused the smash. Should apologise. Only manners. Bring her around

-for another pass. -Please Ace, don't go. I love you.

Stiff upper modem, old girl. Smoke me a kipper.

I'll be back for breakfast.

(HEROIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)

The name's Commander Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer. My friends call me Ace.

I've come from another dimension. Explain later.

But first of all, let's get you out of this pickle.

-What do they call you, matey? -Kryten, sir.

Series 4000 mechanoid. Am I right? Salt of the Space Corps.

-Spanners! -Eh?

I'm sorry, you reminded me of a fellow I once knew.

-What's your handle? -Lister. Dave Lister.

Course it is. Put it there, Dave.

You look a great bloke to be in a scrape with.

What about the guy in the sharp suit?

He hasn't got a name. We just call him Cat.

Looks like you bought yourself a broken leg there, Cat.

I love the Cuban heels.

Who's the deeply delicious, stunningly gorgeous computer?

Holly. (GIGGLES)

My God, it's me, only much more handsome.

Well, it looks like I'm superfluous. Old Arnie will have you

out of here in no time.

He's a hologram, he can't touch anything.

Dead, eh? Well, commiserations, old man. What a crushing bore that must be.

You're me?

I don't quite understand the science but it's got something to do

with us living identical lives up until a certain point.

Where a decision was made and you went one way. I went the other.

Still, can't hang around here chin wagging all day.

Let's get this box up into the air, shall we? What's your plan, Arn?

I haven't got one.

Okay. Right, well, um...

I suggest this. The starboard engine is repairable but it's a two-man job.

Any volunteers?

Yeah, okay, count me in. I've got a window in my schedule this afternoon.

Not so fast, Davey boy. You leapt in so quick you didn't give

Arnie here a chance to speak.

He was just about to volunteer, weren't you, Arnie?

No, I wasn't.

Okay. Well, let's get cracking, shall we, Dave?

What's the starboard engine's thrust to input ratio, Arn?

-What's that? -Well, you can work it out.

What's the craft's inertia rating?

-I don't know. -Well, what's the PSI?

I don't know!

Okay, well, we'll work it out when we get there, shall we?

Come on, Dave. Better grab a brolly. It's a bit of a drizzle outside.

Sir, can I have a word in private?

Of course, old friend. Excuse us.

What's the prob, Krytes?

Well, I have a limited understanding of medicine, sir.

But it's plainly obvious even to me that

your left arm is broken in several places.

Took a bit of a tumble at the landing. It's only a scratch.

I cannot allow you to go out in this storm, sir.

Not with your arm in that condition.

I must insist you allow me to go in your place.

I see. The Series 4000 isn't waterproof, is it?

That's besides the point, sir.

Look, I'll tell you what we'll do.

Sorry, old chum. No option.

Arnie, Kryten's taken a bit of a whack. I want you to re-route his circuitry

and bring him back online.

-How? -You don't know how to do that?

No.

Come on, Dave, let's catch a breath of fresh air.

Smoke me a kipper. Can you do that?

I'll be back for breakfast.

What's your favourite music, Dave?

-Eh? -Keeps your spirits up.

I want you to sing a song.

-I like Rasta-billy Skank. -Right.

(SCREAMS)

Grab my arm, Dave. Grab my arm!

(GROANING)

Afraid I'm going to have to do something a bit sissy now. Black out.

Sorry about that. Let's get cracking!

# Whether you like Rasta-billy...

Come on, Dave. Sing that song!

# Whether you like Rasta-billy... #

Paisley with stripes... That's nice.

Green anoraks with furry collars... They're great.

-Sir, he's delirious. -Oh... Rubber trousers held down

with bicycle clips. Wow!

Commander Rimmer, I ask you. Ace.

Barf city! I bet you anything he wears women's underwear.

They're all the same, his type, you know.

Hurly, burly, rough and tumble, macho Marines in public.

And behind closed doors,

he'll be parading up and down in taffeta ball gowns,

drinking mint juleps, whipping the houseboy.

Sir, he's you. It's just that your lives diverged at a certain point in time.

Yes, I went into the gents and he went the other way.

I assume, sir, you are making fatuous references to his sexuality.

If I may just point out...

Yes, we did it!

# A-wooga, a-wooga A-wah, a-wah!

# A-wooga, a-wooga, a-wah! #

What a team! How you got that housing clear, I'll never know.

Come on, Ace. It was you. I could never have reconnected that fuel line.

I wouldn't have been able to do it

if you didn't hold me by the ankles.

How could you hang upside down

and fix the starboard engine? It was totally brutal.

-What a team. -What a team.

Now I know where I've seen you two.

Weren't you the double action centerfold

in July's edition of "Big Boys in Boots"?

Now look here, Arnie. You can say what you like about me,

but I won't hear a word against Skipper, here.

Skipper?

A man like him deserves a nickname. I thought Skipper sat rather well.

Ace and Skipper. You sound like a kid's TV series

about a boy and his bush kangaroo.

Don't listen to him, Skipper.

Let's get this tea chest up into the stars

and back to the small rouge one, eh?

Yeah, the sooner we get back,

the sooner you two can limb into a nice, hot soapy bath

and play Spot the Submarine.

Sir, the Cat. I don't think he's going to last much longer.

(WHOOSHING)

Bri-nylon underwear, socks, suspenders, suits with cardigans...

KRYTEN: Oh, sir. He's delirious.

His leg's all swollen. I think he may lose it.

-Lose his leg? -I fear so. The operation to save it

is beyond my expertise.

Lose my leg? Hey, that's terrible. None of my suits will fit!

Kryten, I'll need 500 ccs of cortico-adrenaline, two pints of plasma,

a laser scalpel and some kind of tissue sampler,

the Micro Bollington will do.

-Oh, my God. -Field micro-surgery.

All part of basic training in the Space Corps special service. I'll go scrub up.

I'll go and throw up.

-How's the Cat? -Ace did it. Cat's fine now.

He's just sitting up in bed, looking through some swatches

trying to find the material he likes for his dressings.

I don't know how Ace does it. He's been on his feet for 36 hours.

He's still laughing and joking. What a guy.

He's just nipped off to teach Kryten how to play the piano.

Amazing dude.

So, is it a simple registry office or a full church do for you two?

I don't understand your attitude, Rimmer. He's you!

He is not me. I am me.

He's a me who had all the luck, all the chances,

all the breaks that I never got.

No, it was just a single incident. And your lives went off

in completely different directions.

It's incredible to think that one decision in your childhood could produce

-such drastically different people. -Right.

He probably got to go to some really great school

while I was lumbered with IO House.

He got to meet all the right people.

He greased his way up the Old Boy network,

towel-flicked his way into the Space Corps,

masonic hand-shook his way into Flight School, and brown-tongued

his way up the ranks.

You'd think you'd be pleased that somewhere, in some other dimension

there's another you. Another you doing really well for himself.

Come on. How would you feel if some git arrived from another dimension?

Another Lister. With wall-to-wall charisma and a PhD in being

handsome and wonderful.

Hey, man, I am that Lister.

No, come on. How would you feel if there was another Lister

doing a hell of a lot better than you are?

There is. Ace knows him.

That's why he called me Spanners when he first came in.

In Ace's dimension, he's a flight engineer in the Space Corps.

Married to Kristine Kochanski, twin boys Jim and Beckson.

I made up for him.

Whatever he did that I didn't, he deserves the lot.

For me, it kind of makes sense out of all this stuff.

To think that in all these dimensions every possibility is played out.

Hell, there's probably a really, really weird dimension

where you're better looking than me.

Well, it just makes me bitter.

You know I've always had this thing about not getting the breaks.

Well, there's living proof of what I could have achieved

if I'd got the one he got.

ACE: Skipper, got a mo?

Go on. He's probably picked a ring.

Skipper, I've decided I'm not going to stay.

Why?

Him and me. It would never work.

I just can't stand to be near the man.

To see myself so warped, so bitter, so weasely. The man's a maggot.

-So where are you gonna go? -Just out there.

I can't go back, but there's a billion other realities to explore.

A billion other Arnold Rimmers to meet.

Maybe somewhere there's one who's more of a pain in the butt than him.

But I doubt it.

Well, good luck, man. Oh, look, don't be too hard on Rimmer.

You got the break, he didn't. He's just bitter.

Do you know what that break was?

At the age of seven, one of us was kept back a year.

The other one wasn't.

Put your finger on that, would you, Skipper?

That's the only difference?

Rimmer went down a year and you stayed up?

No, I was the one who went down a year.

By his terms, he got the break.

But being kept down a year made me.

The humiliation. Being the tallest boy in the class by a clear foot.

It changed me. Made me buckle down.

Made me fight back.

And I've been fighting back ever since.

While he spent the rest of his life making excuses.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I did get the lucky break.

I'll grab my things and be off, Dave. Smoke me a kipper, Skipper.

I'll be back for breakfast.

Ready?

I'll smoke him a smegging kipper!

Now!

ANNOUNCER;: It's Wednesday night.

It's Amateur Hammond Organ Recital Night.

Okay, take it away, skutters.

(DREADFUL ELECTRIC ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING)