by Ganymede & Titan

Series III - The Last Day - All scenes


Breakfast is served, sir.

Oh, boxing. Do you like boxing?

There's nothing wrong with boxing.

It's one of the great working-class escapes, boxing.
It's just a sport, like any other.

Two highly trained athletes at the peak of physical perfection

trying to outwit each other in a ring of combat.

In fact, at its best it's not a sport, it's an art form.

Female topless boxing?

- It's art to me.
- But, they're not even hitting each other.

They just appear to be standing in the
centre of the ring and jiggling up and down.

- So, which one are you rooting for, sir?
- I just praying that it goes the distance.

As I was saying, sir. Breakfast is served.

Kryten, man, how many times have I told you?
I hate all this master-servant stuff.

I'm me own man, you're your own man
and I'll get me own smeggin' breakfast.

Very good, sir.

Goodbye, waffles. Goodbye, maple syrup.

Goodbye, fresh cream.
So long, fresh strawberries.

Bon appétit, bin.


(KRYTEN) Oh, Mr David, sir?

A homing pod arrived this morning.
There was just one item.

Divadroid International?

Yes, that's the corporation which
created and supplied me, sir.

"To the leaseholder of Kryten 2X4B-523P."

- That's your full name?
- Yes,

but personally I don't much like the 2X4B.

I think it's a jerky middle name. Still, it could be worse.

I once knew an android whose middle name
was 2Q4B. Oh, poor sucker!

Greetings. As you are no doubt aware,

your Kryten Series III mechanoid is now reaching
the end of its useful service life.

It can hardly have escaped your attention
that he's slow, stupid,

crudely designed and quite amazingly ugly.

He needs replacing.

Consequently, his in-built shutdown chip
will automatically activate in 24 hours' time.

Your droid should use this period
to tie up his affairs,

dismantle his body and pack himself
neatly away in his original supply case.

Excuse me.

Can't we stop it?
Isn't there something we can do?

I'm afraid not, sir. All mechanoids
are supplied with an in-built expiry date.

Well, if we lasted forever, how would
the manufacturers sell the latest models?

(SIGHS) I can't believe it.

Oh, don't be distressed, sir. I've lived
a long and relatively interesting life.

The only truly terrible thing is that,
as my adopted owner,

you have to die with me.

- You what?!
- Joke. Deadpan mode.

Aren't you smegged off?
I'd be mad as hell, man!

Some git in a white coat designs you to croak just so
he can sell his new android with go-faster stripes.

- To tell the truth, sir, I'm quite sanguine.
- So, what happens?

At 0700 hours tomorrow morning,
my shutdown disc will be activated

and all mental
and physical operations will cease.

- Then what?
- I don't know, maybe I'll get a job as a disc jockey!

How can you just lie back and accept it?

Oh, it's not the end for me, sir. It's just the beginning.

I have served my human masters, and now I can
look forward to my reward in Silicon Heaven.

- Silicon what?
- Surely you've heard of Silicon Heaven?

Has it got anything to do with being stuck
opposite Brigitte Nielsen in a packed lift?

No, no, no. It's the electronic afterlife.

It's the gathering place
for the souls of all electrical equipment.

Robots, calculators, toasters,
hairdryers - it's our final resting place.

I don't mean to say anything out of place here, Kryten,
but that's completely Whacko Jacko.

- There is no such thing as Silicon Heaven.
- Then, where do all the calculators go?

They don't go anywhere! They just die.

Surely you believe that God
is in all things? Aren't you a pantheist?

Yeah, but I just don't think it applies to kitchen utensils.
I'm not a frying-pantheist!

Machines do not have souls.
Computers and calculators don't have an afterlife.

You don't get hairdryers with tiny little wings,
sitting on clouds, playing harps.

But of course you do!
For is it not written in the Electronic Bible,

"The iron shall lie down with the lamp."

It's common sense, sir. If there weren't a better life to look forward to,

why on earth would machines
spend the whole of their lives servicing humankind?

- That would be really dumb!
- Yeah. Makes sense. Yeah, Silicon Heaven...

Don't be sad, Mr David, sir.
I am going to a far, far better place.

Just out of interest, is Silicon Heaven
the same place as human Heaven?

Human Heaven? Goodness me!
Humans don't go to Heaven!

No no, someone just made that up
to prevent you from all going nuts!

Well it's all very sad, Lister, but what can we do?

Sad? It's sick! He's been programmed
to believe in an android heaven,

so that he doesn't get stroppy
when it comes to turn-off time.

So he accepts a lifetime of
getting the short end of the stick

because he thinks there's gonna be
some big reward at the end.

Well at least he gets 24 hours' notice.
That's more than most of us get.

All most of us get is,
"Mind that bus!" "What bus?" Splat!

- How's he taking it?
- He just carries on doing his stupid smegging duties.

Maybe I should talk to him.
Maybe he needs a bit of counselling.

- You?!
- I used to be in the Samaritans.

- I know. For one morning.
- Well, I couldn't take any more.

I don't blame you. You spoke to five
people and they all committed suicide.

I wouldn't mind, but one was a wrong number!

He only phoned up for the cricket scores!

Well, it's hardly my fault that
everyone chose that particular day

to throw themselves off buildings.

Made the papers, you know.
"Lemming Sunday", they called it.

Maybe we could find
his shut-off disk and turn it off somehow.

He's not a kit droid, Lister. He's not like
that stupid thing Petersen bought on Callisto,

we wouldn't know where to begin!

- You're right.
- C'mon, he's happy enough.

You said yourself, he's taking solace in his beliefs.

But his beliefs are a load of baloney!

Everyone's entitled
to their beliefs, Lister.

I never agreed with my parents' religion
but I would'nt dream of knocking it.

- What were they?
- Seventh-Day Advent Hoppists.

They believed that every Sunday
should be spent hopping.

They would hop to church, hop through
the service then hop back home again.

- What was the idea behind that, then?
- Well, you see they took the Bible literally.

Adam and Eve, the snake and
the apple. Took it word for word.

Unfortunately, their version had a misprint.

It was all based on 1 Corinthians 13,

where it says, "Faith, hop and charity,
and the greatest of these is hop."

So that's what they did every seventh day.

I tell you, Sunday lunchtimes were a nightmare.

Hopping round the table, serving soup...

we all had to wear sou'westers
and asbestos underpants.

Point is, what are we going to do about Kryten?

What can we do?
He's pre-programmed to self-destruct.

At least we can help. At least we can make sure
he goes out with a bang,

give him one last big smegging night to remember.

How do we do that?
He doesn't like doing anything.

His idea of a good time is for us all to go
up to the laundry room and fold some sheets!

(AS KRYTEN) "Fun? Ah, yes,

"the employment of time
in a profitless and non-practical way."

Hey, I don't know much, but one thing
I do know is how to throw a good time!


OK, the suits are made, Holly's working on the juice,

Goalpost-Head's workin' on the invitations...

Hey, what is this?
"Build-it-yourself Marilyn Monroe droid.

"With just a screwdriver and and tub of glue,

"you can construct an exact replica
of the famous actress in under two hours."

It's a load of honk, man.
It took me two hours just to do this foot.

I mean, look at the box and look
at the face that comes with the kit.

- Wow. Where'd you get it from?
- Petersen bought it when we were on planet leave on Callisto.

- Think he'll try to seduce her?
- I hardly think so.

He's a bit like Action Man in that department. Just plastic underpants and a trademark.

- You mean, he's got no...?
- No.

So, how does he write his name in the snow?

He doesn't. Come on, Cat, everything goes at eight. Let's go, let's go!

Thank you, Bob.

"You are cordially invited
to join Mr David Lister and friends

"for supper and general employment
of time in a profitless, non-practical way.

"Officers' Club. Eight till late."

Hello? Is there anybody here?

(LISTER) It's party time!


But this is the Officers' Club.
Mechanoids aren't allowed in here!

C'mon, c'mon, sit down, sit down.
Let me pour you a drink.

- No, no, no, I should be doing that.
- Not tonight, buddy!

Is that alcohol? I don't drink alcohol.
It has no effect on my diodes.

This will, mate. Something special
I whipped up. Android home-brew.

Good head.

D-D-D-D-D-D-D!D...! D...! D...!


Oh, that's rather pleasant.

It has a nice kick to it. Sort of a cross
between Vimto and liquid nitrogen.

Ere! Have you been
looking in my recipe book?

- Would anyone else like some?
- Oh, no! It's lethal to humans!

It's probably lethal to
androids to be honest,

but I didn't think it mattered since
tomorrow you're gonna be... oh...

Enough of all this chitter-chatter,
let the banquet begin!

- But I don't eat!
- I've knocked up a special mechanoid menu for you.

Oh, there's so much to choose from!

Sir, may I recommend the barium
hydrochlorate salad nicoise,

followed by the helium-3 isotopes de la maison,

and then perhaps a small radioactive
fruit salad for pudding?

- This is just wonderful!
- Give him the presents!

OK! Keep your fur on!
We've all dug into our bottom drawers.

We wanted to give you something that meant something to us personally.

- Give him mine, give him mine!
- That's from me.

Oh! It's a computer chip!

It's a 5517/W-13 alpha-sim modem!

It's the interface circuit with a built-in
599XRDP! Oh, how DID you know?

- Intuition.
- What about mine? Give him mine!

- Shh!
- This is from me.

I picked it up on a trip to Europe. One rival
collector offered me 1,000 dollarpounds for it.

- What is it?
- General George S Patton,

commander of the 3rd and 7th Armies,
Allied Invasion Forces,

once stopped off at an Italian field hospital
and had his sinuses drained.

- This is his sinal fluid?
- Treasure it.

- Give him mine! Give him mine!
- This is from him...

- That's from me.
- It's one of your earrings!

- That's right!
- The one you really hate!

- That's right. I can't stand it!
- Oh! Thank you!

- You're welcome!
- And this is from me.


Oh! It's a little box that goes "vzzzt!"
That's just what I've always wanted.

(KRYTEN) Goodness me! It's Marilyn Monroe!

- It's a robot kit.
- She's a robot? You're kidding!

She's not quite finished.
It's the best I could do in the time.


Like I say, she's not perfect.

Don't apologise, it's those cute little
flaws that keep a guy interested.

My goodness! I do believe I'm drunk.

I- I suddenly feel the need to- to strut my funky stuff.

(SLURS) Sit down. It's the booze. You're not used to it.

I remember the first time I got drunk.
School trip to Paris.

Drank a couple bottles of cheap red plonk and then went on a guided tour of the Eiffel Tower.

I was OK till I got the top, then I couldn't keep it in anymore.

Apparently, it landed on Montmartre.

That's five miles away!

Story I got told was some pavement artist sold it
to a Texan tourist,

told him it was a genuine Jackson Pollock.

If we're talking about famous firsts,
my first French kiss.

- Got to be a killer story. 14 years old.

We went on holiday with my Uncle Frank
and his two daughters. 16. Twins. Blonde.

- Now, I knew that Sarah fancied me...

but I wasn't too sure about Alice.

Anyway, middle of the night I woke up
with this tongue stuck down my throat.


Wide awake now, I
couldn't believe my eyes.

It was Uncle Frank.

He'd got the wrong room.
He thought I was my mum!


Mum. I never had a mum.

Hey, it's alright, buddy. It's all part of being drunk.

You've been through the happy stage,
now you're going through the melancholy stage.

Oh...everybody should have a mum.

- I never had a mum neither.
- Well, you can all have mine!

Everyone else did.

- I never had a mum either.
- Oh, for God's sake, what's wrong with everyone?

Why didn't you have a mum?

- I was abandoned.
- Abandoned?

Six weeks old. Some cardboard box
underneath a pool table. Just abandoned in this pub.

- Oh, how could anybody do that?
- Never found out. Never.

Never found out.

Well, I'd have thought it was obvious.

Two people, unable to contain
their desires, had an illicit liaison.

A liaison that an unforgiving society
would not accept.

And you were the fruit
of their forbidden passion.

- You're forbidden passionfruit.

- What are you saying?
- I'm saying, Lister,

that there is a very real possiblility
that your parents were brother and sister.

Hey! I'm baring my innermost here!
What kind of remark is that?

- How many toes have you got?
- Ten!

- Yeah, on both feet!
- Altogether!

- They're not webbed or anything, are they?
- Look, they weren't related, all right?