MAG.E 5

home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search

/ MAG.E 5 / MAG.E 5 (Disk 1 of 2).adf / Dwarf / 5 < prev next >

Wrap

Text File | 1977-12-31 | 26KB | 537 lines

@6Red Dwarf - Series 6, Episode 4 - "Emohawk: Polymorph II" --------------------------------------------------------- @1 Rimmer: SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE! ALL HANDS ON DECK! EMERGENCY DRILL! SCRAMBLE! [pause] Rimmer: Er, perhaps you didn't catch that. I said, SCRAMBLE! Lister: Yeah, that'd be great with bacon an' beans, man. Rimmer: Look, Starbug's a blazing inferno, the Engine Rooms are waste deep in rocket fuel and we're being attacked off the starboard bow by an unidentified craft. Cat: Really? Rimmer: No, of course not really. It's a drill - we're pretending Starbug's on fire and under attack. Lister: An' I'm pretendin' to scramble, man. Goodnight! Rimmer: Look, you've got thirty seconds to get out of bed or I'm declaring you officially dead. Lister: Good, then we can rest in peace. [later] Rimmer: Well gentlemen, congratulations. Scrambling in a Red Alert situation - a new record time; one hour, seventeen minutes, thirty nine seconds. Lister: Hey, not bad! An' I bet we can get it down to one sixteen if we cut out that fourth round of toast. Rimmer: You think I'm a petty minded, bureaucratic nincompoop who delights in enforcing penickity regulations 'cause he gets some sort of perverse pleasure out of it. And in many ways, you're absolutely damned right. That doesn't alter the fact that the only way we're gonna track down Red Dwarf and get through this in one piece is with a sense of discipline, a sense of purpose, and wherever possible, a sensible haircut. Lister: I'm goin' back to bed. Rimmer: Would it harm you to have hair like mine? Cat: I have got hair like yours, just not on my head! Rimmer: Well, I'm no stranger to the Land of Scoff, perhaps you'd like to explain to me why it is that every major battle in history has been won by the side with the shortest haircuts? Kryten: Oh, surely not, Sir! Rimmer: Think about it, why did the U.S. Cavalry beat the Indian nation? Short back and sides versus girly hippy locks. The Cavaliers and the Roundheads? One-nil to the pudding-basins. Vietnam: crew cuts both sides, no score draw. Kryten: Oh, for a really world class psychiatrist. Cat: Check your screen - I'm getting something up my left nostril, and it's comin' in fast. Kryten: Scans are all negative, Sir. At the risk of challenging your olfactory excellence, perhaps a re-smelling is in order? Cat: I'm telling you bud, my nostril hairs are shimmyin' faster than a grass skirt on fat Hawaiian hoola-hoop champion. There's something out there. Kryten: Scan's still dry. Rimmer: That's it. I'm invoking Space Core Directive 68250. Kryten: 68250? But Sir, surely that's impossible without at least one live chicken and a Rabbi? Rimmer: Forget it. Forget I was ever born. Kryten: But Sir, I'm very happy to perform the ceremony, but I'm absolutely bewildered as to how sacrificing poultry might clear up the screen problem. Lister: Wait a minute - gettin' somethin'. Major power surge off the port bow! Kryten: He's right - some kind of vessel. It appears to be uncloaking. Lister: He's to damned close! That power surge'll toss us around like we're a bead of sweat in an aerobic teacher's buttock cleavage! Kryten: Hang on! Here it comes! Rimmer: Damage report? Cat: Superficial. Navicom's down. Slight rupture in fuel pipe nine. And somehow the pilot's headset's got jammed on the Country and Western channel! Kryten: Second wave coming. [pause] Kryten: What's he thinking of, warping that close to another vessel? Damned space-hog! Rimmer: My God! That's a Space Core External Enforcement Vehicle! Cat: What? Lister: The Space Filth. Kryten: A computer controlled enforcement probe. It's scanning us now. Cat: Incoming! Probe: Property Core Space removing and equipment Core Space damaging, ships Core Space of series a looting with charged formally are you. Kryten: The materialisation must've scrambled its voice unit. It's making about as much sense as a Japanese VCR instruction manual. Probe: Plead you do how? Rimmer: It's in reverse! How - do - you - plead? Cat: How do we plead to what? Kryten: It's charging us with looting Space Core derelicts. Lister: But we don't loot Space Core derelicts! We just hack our way in an' swipe what we need! Rimmer: Lister, if this goes to trial, I demand separate lawyers. Cat: What's the penalty for this? 'Cause if it means wearing outfits with arrows on, I'm committing suicide. Kryten: Er, no Sir. It means wearing outfits with wings and halos on, Sir. The penalty is execution. Rimmer: Why so harsh? Kryten: It's frontier law, Sir, and we are the deep space equivalent of horse rustlers. Severe sentencing is the only way to maintain order. Don't expect it to show us any mercy. Rimmer: What do we do? Kryten: Let's face it Sir, we're as guilty as the man behind the grassy knoll. Lister: Yeah, but if we admit it, it'll blow us outta the stars! Rimmer: Recommendations? Kryten: Suggest I take the wrap for everyone, Sir. You can say that I held you hostage, and forced you at gunpoint to do my evil bidding. Rimmer: For God's sake Kryten, we can't let you do that! Kryten: Really? Rimmer: Dream on, metal trash! Get your hands in the air and step into that searchlight! Probe: Minute one have you. Lister: No choices, then - we leg it! Plot a course for scarper city! Kryten: Sir, a Class A Enforcement Orb can easily outrun us! Lister: Kryten, the Eastbourne Zimmerframe Relay Team can easily outrun us! It's not about speed. It's about wit, brains and cunning. Kryten: I was praying it wouldn't come to that, Sir. Lister: Take a look at your screens. We're seven clicks away from a Gelf Zone. They wouldn't follow us in there in a gazillion years. Rimmer: No, because Gelf's are untrustworthy scavengers with no regard for life, law or property. Lister: Right, so we'll be safe. Rimmer: Lister, you've heard the stories! They skin human beings alive and turn them into beanbags! Unless you want a triple-buttocked Gelf sitting on your face for the rest of eternity, and probing your crevaces for lost forks and biros, I suggest you rethink! Kryten: It's the lesser of two evils, Sir. In the absence of a sane plan, I suggest we go with Mr Lister's. Probe: Seconds twenty in firing commence will I, reply a of absence in. Lister: Roughly translated, hit the reheat! Cat: You don't have to tell me twice! [pause] Lister: Hit the reheat! Cat: Sorry, bud! Look's like you do have tell me twice! Probe: Firing commence will I. Lister: In which case, bony butts our move let's! Rimmer: Close comms! Kryten: Comms closed. Lister: Gelf Zone six clicks an' closin'. Kryten: Weapon lock registered! Pulse missile launched! Rimmer: Impact in ten seconds! Cat: That's it, we're platform shoes, man! Lister: Kryten, check. Firing flares. Kryten: Brace for impact! [pause] Rimmer: Missed us! Lister: Warning shot across the bows. Kryten: Won't be so fortunate next time. Lister: Four clicks to the Gelf Zone. Kryten: Another lock! This time it won't be a warning shot! Rimmer: Incoming pulse fire! Lister: Decoys launched! Rimmer: It's not going to be enough! Six seconds to impact! Cat: We've gotta try an' shake 'em off! [pause] Rimmer: We've lost it. [pause] Rimmer: Sorry, I was looking at the wrong panel! [pause] Rimmer: Damage report? Cat: It's bad, bud. Look's like Starbug's been hit! Rimmer: Details, halibut breath! Cat: Well, according to the Damage Report Machine, there are several small fires in the cockpit, lots of smoke, and the navicom's fizzing. [pause] Cat: Oh, damn! Now the Damage Report Machine's exploded! Kryten: Another lock on! Lister: This one's to finish us off! Rimmer: How far to the Gelf Zone? Lister: Click and a half! Kryten: We've lost three fuel tanks - there's barely enough left to get us stable! Cat: Wait - I'm picking something up! Lister: Got it. Putting it on visual! Rimmer: Look at the size of that thing! It must be a mile across! Kryten: A Gelf icon, carved out of the solid rock. It's some kind of warning beacon. Lister: 'ey, incomin' message! Gelf: Carnas a pini. Wat wa mora! Kryten: Running it through the translator. Gelf: This is Gelf Space. Death to the strangers! Rimmer: Pulse missile launch. Impact in twelve seconds and counting! Lister: Cat, head for the eye socket. Cat: The eye socket? Rimmer: There's no way through - it's a dead end! Lister: Just do it! Rimmer: Eight seconds! Cat: We're heading for solid rock! Rimmer: Three seconds! Two! One! [pause] Cat: Eighty percent of the manoeuvering thrusters are out! Rimmer: The infra-red reports fifty three separate fires. Kryten: Sprinkler systems are down on all three decks of the Engine Room. Rimmer: There's no way to put it out - as soon as it hits the fuel tanks, we'll blow! Lister: Wait a minute! Gelf moon bearing 356 by 121! It's got an ocean, can you get us there? Cat: Does mouse shit roll? I'll get you there, bud. [later] Rimmer: Look at it. All our possessions, all our valuables. Between fire, flood and impact damage we've lost damn near everything. Kryten: Well, at least Mr Lister's guitar survived intact. [pause] Kryten: Not even Mr Lister's guitar survived intact. [pause] Lister: It's waste high down there, but I managed to get the pumps workin' again. Three hours we'll be dry. Rimmer: Thrusters, boosters, reheat - autorepair can take care of everything apart from the Oxy-Generation Unit, which is totally kaputski. Lister: So you're sayin' we can take off, but we can't breathe? Cat: And we can't repair it? Rimmer: It's a blackened, charred mess. Worse than one of Lister's drunken fry-ups! Lister: Well, we're snookered. Unless we get out there and trade with the Gelfs. Rimmer: Trade? You can't be serious! Kryten: Sir, it does appear to be our only option. [later] Cat: Give me the arrow. It could tell us a whole heck of a lot about what we're dealin' with here. [pause] Lister: Anythin'? Cat: Yep, this came from a bow, all right. Sorry, I was expecting to get a lot more than that. Kryten: As we anticipated, they are the Kinatawowi. Good, I've studied the dialect. They are one of the friendlier Kintechiach, or tribes. Lister: Nice welcome. Kryten: No, Sir. It is a great Hano, or honour, to be greated in this manner. They would have killed us the instant we had landed if they had taken exception to us. That's a very good sign. Rimmer: What? It's a good sign they haven't killed us? Kryten: Absolutely, Sir. With the Kinatawowi, not skinning you alive the moment they set eyes on you is one of their warmest greetings. We are indeed Hanhasset, or blessed. Rimmer: And Kryten, you are indeed a Hachambabo, or Smart Alec Metal Git. [pause] Kryten: I will tell them we are traders, in search of an engine part, and that we have many rare treasures to trade. [pause] Kryten: Kinatawowi! Nech nichi histan. Hanua nachu bachu. Leader: [indecipherable grunts] Lister: Look! Look what we got! Look, we got erm... look, Swiss watches. Leader: [grunts] Lister: Nice one. Erm, Levi jeans! Leader: [grunts] Lister: Hey, hat! Look at this! Hey, hey, hey! Nice hat! Cigar? [pause] Lister: Hey, cool dude! Kryten: Might I suggest caution, Sir. Some Gelfs have their sphinctal orifices in their faces. Let's hope you haven't offended him. [pause] Kryten: No, he seems quite pleased. Lister: We need an Oxy-Generation Unit. Leader: [grunts] Lister: Savvy? Kryten: Aggi gan bachu mach wachaho? Leader: [grunts] Lister: Cat, get the case, man. Leader: [grunts] Kryten: It seems to be going well. Cat: What is that thing? Kryten: It's an Emohawk, Sir. A polymorph that's spayed at birth, and half domesticated. It's trained to change shape at its owner's behest. Like all polymorphs, it's an unusual leech. It has the ability to steal emotions from living creatures. Emotions are a highly valued trading commodity. Lister: Ah, the Oxy-Generation Unit! Kryten: Looks like they're ready to fix a price. Rimmer: I thought we'd fixed a price with all the bangles and baubles we've given them? Kryten: No, Sir. That was just for the honour of entering their Watunga, or hut. The bartering proper begins now. Leader: [grunts] Kryten: Oh, dear. Lister: What? What, you want my hat? Leader: [grunts] Lister: My jacket? You want my jacket? Kryten: No, Sir. He doesn't want your jacket. Lister: He doesn't want me longjohns, does he? Kryten: Not your longjohns, either. Lister: Well, what then? Leader: [grunts] Lister: Me? He wants me? Kryten: Yes, Sir. He says, in exchange for the Oxy-Generation Unit, he wants you to be his daughter's mate. Lister: THAT'S HIS DAUGHTER? Kryten: One of three. Apparently Sir, she's the looker. [pause] Lister: Tell him not if she was the last warty yeti look alike in the world and I was the only boy! Rimmer: Come on, Listy - you've dated worse! Lister: Only due to very poor disco lighting. Leader: [grunts] Kryten: He says, no wedding, no O/G Unit. Leader: [grunts] Kryten: Hmm. Leader: [grunts] Kryten: Yes. He's giving us five Hanaka to decide. Rimmer: How long's a Hanaka? Kryten: Curiously enough, it's exactly the same as one Earth minute. Cat: Five Hanaka? That only gives us twenty eight hours! Lister: OK. Look, let's get out our sheet music an' play the real waltz. There's no way I'm going down to Moss Bros. for anyone who is less attractive than my own armpit after twenty games of table tennis! Rimmer: What about us? You're not gonna hang all of us out to dry, just because for some reason she doesn't hit your G-spot? What about sacrifice? Putting your friends' interests before your own selfish drives? Lister: Rimmer, it would never work out. Shes' obviously an Aries, an' me an' Aries - forget it! Kryten: Sir, they are a proud people and will not change their mind. Unless you are prepared to stay here and marry Ahachhachhachahach- ahach... Lister: That's her name? I could never settle down with anyone who's name sounds like a footballer clearing his nose! Cat: The plan is obvious. We do the trade, you go through with the wedding, when everybody's asleep, we come back and rescue you. What do you say? Lister: NOT A CHANCE IN HELL! [later] Leader: [grunts] Lister: I do. Leader: [grunts] Lister: What's he sayin'? Kryten: Er, you may kiss the bride, Sir. Lister: What, without a bag? [pause] Lister: Don't be strangers, guys! See you soon! Drop in ANY TIME! ANY TIME! Kryten: Hanna bech yech oggi gon, yech? [later] Lister: Well darlin', what a day! I'm pooped! Straight to sleep for me! Bride: [grunts] Lister: Maybe in the mornin'. Goodnight! [pause] Lister: You've been lookin' forward to this, haven't ya? You're not gonna take no for an answer are ya? Brider: [grunts] Lister: OK, just give me a couple of minutes. I wanna slip into somethin' a little more comfortable. It's called Starbug! [pause] Lister: CHANGE OF PLAN! LEG IT! Bride: (He's left me on my wedding night. Men! They're all bastards! They've taken the O/G unit.) Leader: (No-one steals from the Kinatawowi. Fly my beauty. Feast on their emotions. Drain them dry!) [later] Cat: Quick! Somethin's comin'! Kryten: Argh! It's the Emohawk! Lister: What happened? Where'd it go? Kryten: Must've transmuted into something else. Suggest we proceed with extreme caution. [pause] Cat: It's somewhere close - I can smell it! [pause] Cat: IT'S THE STICK! Group: Waargh! [pause] Cat: No, it's not. Oh my God! I'm so jumpy! I thought it was the stick! [pause] Cat: IT IS THE STICK! Group: Waargh! [pause] Rimmer: Where is it now? Kryten: It's gone off into the undergrowth. Lister: Cat, you know what they're like. Stay on the case. Don't pick anythin' up! Unbelievable. Get me somebody... 100% concentration at all times! Cat: Yeah, yeah, yeah. [later] Lister: That's it, we're airtight. Damn thing can't get in now. An' all it took was a little bit of concentration. Rimmer: How long before we can go? We don't really want a visit from Listy's in-laws demanding their wedding present back! Kryten: It will take an hour or so to get the Oxy-Generation Unit set up, but I suggest we take off now, Sir, and use emergency supplies until the O/G Unit's on-line. Rimmer: And what if it doesn't work? Kryten: Then, the Cat and Mr Lister will choke to death. Rimmer: A plan with no drawbacks! [later] Lister: Time we fitted that O/G unit. Kryters? Kryten: I'm on my way, Sir. Cat: That smell's still drivin' me crazy. I gotta wash my hands. Transferring to auto. [pause] Cat: Aaarrrgghhh! [pause] Duane: It's stolen my cool! It's taken all my style! [pause] Duane: I need a mirror! [pause] Duane: Ouch! What's wrong with me? I've got no grace! No elan! No poise! What's it turned me into? [pause] Duane: Duane Dibley? DUANE DIBLEY? Waarrgghh! Rimmer: What is it? I heard noises. Duane: Look what it's done to me! It's turned me into Duane Dibley, the Duke of Dork! Rimmer: My God! Where is it? Duane: I lost it! It came in here somewhere! Rimmer: Can you smell it? Duane: The only scent I'm getting is extra strong spot cream, and dandruff shampoo that doesn't work! Rimmer: It could be anywhere, it could be anything. Trust nothing. It may have outsmarted you, but it's gonna have to get up pretty darn early in the A.M. to outsmart Arnie J. Duane: Is that a new gun? I don't recall seeing it before. Rimmer: The gun! The Emohawk's the gun! [pause] Rimmer: God, that was close. Duane: I hope you're right, 'cause if you're not, we just flushed away our only gun. Rimmer: Just leave the thinking to me, keyboard teeth. [later] Rimmer: Lister! Kryten! The Cat was right, we have brought the Emohawk on board. But lucky for you guys, old iron-butt was around to sort it out. [pause] Rimmer: That's weird, there's something wrong with this microphone. It's not transmitting. [pause] Duane: Are you OK, Sir? Rimmer: It's removing my bitterness, taking my negativity, slurping out all my snidiness... [pause] Duane: It's gone now, Sir! It's OK to come out! Ace: Well, old man, look's like we both caught a bite from the little blighter! Let's track it down before it harms Kryters and Dave. I'm afraid this means... death for both of us. But it's a small price to pay for our chummies, eh? Duane: What a guy! Er, listen, before we leave, I just gotta change these clothes! If I don't get into some sideways ironed flares and transparent plastic sandles, I swear I'll go crazy! Ace: Do what you have to, old chum! I'll go tell 'em we're having a party! [later] Lister: What was that? Kryten: It's the hydraulic lock, Sir. We're sealed in! Lister: It won't over-ride! Ace: I've sealed you in the Engine Room, Dave. 'fraid me and the Cat have taken a bit of a nip from the Emohawk. Lister: You what? It's on board? Ace: It's taken my bitterness, and the Cat's cool. He's in a hell of a shape. He's looking so geeky, I don't think he could even get into a science fiction convention. Kryten: Then the Emohawk is still on the loose? Ace: We've got it pinned down in the Obs. Room. Lister: Well, let us in! You need all the help you can get? Ace: No one I'd rather have with me in a fracas, Dave, but you're the last human being alive, old love. And frankly, you're just far too damned valuable to risk. Only one way to guarantee victory for the home eleven - I'm gonna open the airlock. Suck the little perisher out into deep space. Kryten: But, Sir! That would also kill you and the Cat! Ace: He won't suffer, Kryters. I'll snap his neck when he's not looking. Won't feel a thing. Believe me, he'd want it this way. Kryten: But, Sir! If we could capture the creature, we could extract the DNA strands and re-inject you both! Restore your former personalities! Ace: Too risky, Krytie! Any case, I don't think I could face becoming... him again. Everyone has his limits. Fellows, smoke me a kipper - I'll be back for breakfast. [pause] Lister: What a guy. Kryten: But, Sir! We've got to save them from themselves! Their minds are totally distorted! The Cat's a complete yutz, and Mr Rimmers... well... nice! Lister: Charge up the bazookoid. We'll blast our way in. [later] Ace: Ready, old chum? Duane: Just let me check. Thermos, sandwiches, corn-plasters, telephone money, dandruff brush, animal footprint chart and one triple-thick condom! You never know! Ace: OK, Duane. Let's step into the airlock and get part two of the plan underway. Duane: Oh? What plan is this? Ace: Just step in there, Duane. Duane: Mm. So, er, what precisely is the plan, then? Ace: I think you'll find it a little more comfortable if you, er, stand in front of me. Duane: Mm. Why are we in this airlock? Ace: Just relax, old chum. I'm sending you on ahead. Duane: I'm the scout party? [pause] Ace: Dave, you crazy fool! We're all set to save your bacon! There's no need for you to sling your love spuds on the barbecue! Kryten: Sir, our best chance is to tackle the Emohawk together. Lister: Yeah, one squirt of liquid delenium, it'll freeze it exactly where it stands, in whatever shape it's in. Ace: OK, fellows! Let's go! [pause] Ace: Looks like it's lasered its way back down into the Engine Rooms. Probably looking for you two gents. Let's go. [pause] Kryten: According to the psi-scan, it's somewhere in this location. Lister: IT'S THE BARREL! [pause] Lister: Sorry! False alarm! Phew. THAT CHAIN! IT'S MOVING! [pause] Lister: Sorry! Sorry! Kryten: Sir, try and remain calm, you're experiencing a classic knee-jerk paranoid reaction to a terror situation. It's essential at this time that we... IT'S THE WALL! [pause] Kryten: Shame overload. I, I, I, I... sorry! Lister: It's impossible! How can we find somethin' that can disguise itself as anythin'? How can we lure it out? Ace: Worry ye not, Davey boy. It'll strike soon enough. [pause] Duane: That's my thermos! Er, excuse me! Sirs! Gentlemen! I think we have a suspect! Wargh! I got it! I got it! Oh! It's turned into a grenade! But I got it! Ace: Toss it away, old chum! Duane: I can't throw! I throw like a geek! Ace: Just chuck it! [pause] Lister: It's gonna blow! Ace: Leave this to me, Davey boy! Smoke me a kipper, I'll be... [pause] Ace: Freeze it, Davey boy! [pause] Kryten: But, Sir! How did you know it wouldn't damage your hard light drive? Ace: Didn't, Kryters. Just trying to protect you chaps. Kryten: Well, Sir. Better get you back to normal. Ace: Would it be possible for me to stay like this for another twenty four hours before I have to return as that er, [spits], ghastly maggot? Kryten: It's the least we could do, Sir. And you, Cat? Would you like to stay as Duane? Duane: Suck my thermos! I hate being the Prince of Dorkness! You never know when the next klutzy things gonna... [pause] Duane: ... happen. What a Dibley! [End of Episode 4]