Original subtitles

("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 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.

Initiate the homing procedure and bring help. OK?

- (SQUEAKS) - Good luck, boy.

Go on!

(WHITE NOISE)

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

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

Something in it has broken free.

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

What do you mean?

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

- Tarantulas? - You've never been overly fond of them.

- Well, no. - The prospect of waking up

and finding one crawling over your naked, helpless body

fills you with a kind of cold dread?

Well, yeah. What are you saying, Holly?

I'm saying it might not be your night.

Look. 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, 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, keep still. I'm trying to draw a line.

I don't want it going wonky. We want to keep 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 DIY.

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

- What happened? - There are gaps.

Mr Rimmer spotted an S-3 planet on the scope and wanted to claim it for the Space Corps.

As usual, the ceremony consisted of singing all 23 stanzas of the Space Corps anthem.

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

- A moonquake? - Worse.

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

- And then? - Then things got sketchy.

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

I remember 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 get a trace on his light bee?

Got him. Click 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.

This is one weird place. Strange animal noises,

unbearable stench, squelchy underfoot...

It's just like your laundry basket.

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

- Psi-moon? - An artificial planetoid.

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

In this instance, 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 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 encounter, say, Mr Rimmer's lust personified as some kind of slobbering 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, the desire to please.

Whatever took Mr Rimmer, let's pray that its intentions are benign.

He can't be in much danger. He's a hologram.

Not here. Here he has 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, but I demand my right to a phone call.

Yes, 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 look remotely like the embassy?

I want to know who you are now.

(UNEARTHLY VOICE) In accordance with the appetites of the Dark One,

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 strange men in black hoods

with drums and rather unconvincing red eyes.

Thank God you're here. I thought I was in danger.

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

- Why have we stopped? - I don't think that swamp will support us.

- I suggest we continue the journey on foot. - Go out there?

- Into Rimmer's subconscious? - We're almost on top of him.

- Just a few hundred metres. - Remember, it's Rimmer's mind out there.

Expect sickness.

I'm a second technician in the Space Corps, briefed to give name and number only.

I don't know what you people are playing at, but I won't give you anything else.

You can oil me all you like, you can use your tongues 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 plan.

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

Just have a large pizza with extra olives ready afterwards.

Er, where are you going?

Er, what are you doing?

My God! Are you taking a flying leap?!

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

You have been prepared for him.

This Master character - and I acknowledge that I may not want to know this -

why does he want me oily particularly?

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

He always likes his victims to be oiled. It's much better for conducting electricity.

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

(RESOUNDING CLANG)

Why I agreed to strolling around Rimmer's psyche I will never know.

Oh, terrific. This gets better and better.

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

(CHORUS OF MUTTERING VOICES)

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!

Come quickly. I've found a metaphor.

- A what? - Look at all these gravestones.

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

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

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

Look at this. This one's minute!

- This one's freshly dug. - Who's it for?

Oh, psychologically speaking, Mr Rimmer may be in bigger trouble than we suspected.

If this grave gets 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.

Your staff have somehow mistaken me for a virgin.

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

Sorry. I 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 nearby. We're right on top of him.

(BLOOD-CURDLING GROWL)

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

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

- Here. - (RIMMER) Why are you being so horrible?

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, bazookoids blazing, and get him out of there

or sit 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! - The bazookoid fire could start a rockslide.

- 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 is peculiarly appropriate here.

In binary language, it's this -

0-0-1-1-0-0-1-1 1-0-1-1-0-0-0-1-1-1-1-0-0,

1-1-1-1-1-0-0-0-1-1-1-0-0-0-1-1-1-1,

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

- (RIMMER) Which way? - Right at the Swamp of Despair,

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

You're a weird guy, you know that?

Why are you all looking at me like it's 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 thing shaped like a cactus jammed where only customs men dare to probe.

- Don't you know what this place is? - Yes, it's a hell-hole, 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 to loathe about me?

Would you like the list, sir?

- What list? - Well, you were despised by your parents

for failing to achieve their standards.

Your brothers were high-flyers in the Space Corps and you serviced 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 no one has truly liked you

because you are so fundamentally unlikeable.

Oh, that.

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

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

God! I'm such a mess.

- (ENORMOUS THUD) - What was that?

- Quicksand's sucking us down. - (LISTER) Hit the retros!

They're only keeping us stable. Ten minutes before they burn out.

OK. Let's get into the jet-powered rocket pants and 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 an 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?

You heard him. If I don't hand myself over, he'll attack Starbug.

- What? You're giving yourself up? - No. I'm going to the engine room to cower.

I suggest you find ingenious places to tremble, too.

The only way we're gonna get out of here alive is by killing that thing.

- How? It's invulnerable. - We're finished.

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 lovability of an itchy verruca.

- (RESOUNDING THUD) - Excellent.

Mr Lister, Cat, confabulation in the cockpit.

- Not you, sir. - (POUNDING THUD)

Sirs, I think I have it. The real enemy is not out there.

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 drove back the beast in the cavern, it wasn't bazookoid fire that did it.

- It was telling Rimmer we'd save him. - Precisely.

So if we make Rimmer feel cared about...

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

that would vanquish the self-loathing beast,

or at least debilitate it long enough for us to get off this psi-moon.

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

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

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

Our lives depend on it. Ready?

I'll never be ready.

Listen, we've decided to stay with you and face the danger.

- All for one and that. - Really?

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

He means we're all facing certain death

and we should let each other know how we feel about each other.

- You think that's a good idea? - Guys aren't terrific at, you know...

- Expressing their feelings. - Yeah. They kid around, insult each other.

And what they really mean is... They can't say what they really mean.

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

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 called me a cancerous polyp on the anus of humanity.

In an affectionate way.

In a kidding around, friendly, affectionate way.

Sir, we may never get another opportunity to articulate our feelings,

and 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, to shame me into doing the honourable thing.

(BOTH PROTEST)

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

I want to set 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. - It might be a good idea

if we try and get into a kind of a four-way hug situation.

- What's wrong with you? - People don't touch enough, sir.

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

- This is a beautiful moment. - We love you, AJ!

Get in the cockpit. There's something very strange happening.

(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? - What was?

All that hugging stuff. It was just a way of escaping.

You didn't really feel that I'm an OK bloke, that I'm not so bad once you know me.

You didn't 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 #