Smega-Drive
by Ganymede & Titan
Series V - The Inquisitor - All scenes
("RED DWARF" THEME)
(BOOMING VOICE) Thomas Allman.
Thomas Allman, you have been found
unworthy of having existed.
Is that you, mother?
Your life and all memory of you
will be wiped from history.
The void you occupied
in the space-time continuum
will be allocated to a person
who was never given the gift of life.
May they spend their time more wisely.
(WHOOSH)
No, please. Why me? There must be others
who've lived worthless lives.
All will be judged.
It is complete. All that remains
is to delete your physical form.
Sorry to disturb you, sir. Reality control.
Coffee, sir.
Double caffeinated, quadruple sugar.
- Nice one.
- Ah, Virgil's "Aeneid".
Oh, the epic tale
of Agamemnon's pursuit of Helen of Troy,
the most classic work by the greatest
Latin poet who ever put quill to parchment.
- Yeah, it's the comic book version.
- Oh, really?
It's good, man. Absolutely full of history.
"Zap! Pow! Ker-splat! Die in bed,
you Trojan pig-dog! Gnargh! Ker-pow!"
I see they've remained
faithful to the original text.
I'm sure Virgil would
have approved.
Kryten, don't discourage him. It's the only thing
he's ever read that doesn't have lift-up flaps.
I dunno though. This Wooden Horse of Troy malarkey,
I'm not buyin' that.
It's one of the most famous
military manoeuvres in history.
I mean, The Greeks have been camped outside Troy,
ker-powing, zapping and ker-splatting the Trojans for the best part of a decade, yeah?
So?
So all of a sudden they wake up
one morning, and the Greeks have gone.
And there outside the city walls, they've left this gift,
this tribute to their valiant foes,
a huge wooden horse,
just large enough to happily contain
500 Greeks in full battle dress
and still leave adequate room
for toilet facilities?
Are you telling me that not one Trojan goes,
Hang on a minute, isn't that a bit of a funny pressie?
What's wrong with a couple of hundred pairs of socks and some aftershave?
No they don't, they just wheel it in
and all decide to go for an early night.
People that stupid deserve to be ker-powed,
zapped and ker-splatted in their beds.
You know what
the big joke is?
From this particular phase in history, we derive
the phrase: Beware of Greeks bearing gifts",
when it would be more logical to derive the phrase:
Beware of Trojans, they're complete smegheads.
Well, thank you, AJP Taylor.
- (THUD)
- What was that?
- That's strange. We've changed course.
- Are you sure, Holly?
There's no course
change programmed.
(THUD) And again.
(ALARM SOUNDS)
Mark one eight zero, that's a complete turn.
- We're heading back to Red Dwarf.
- Give me manual, Hol.
- Agh!
- We're locked out!
This is not a malfunction, there is
something's controlling the craft.
Holly, any traffic around?
- Nothing on the local scan.
- This is impossible, there must be...
(BOOMING VOICE) I am in possession
of the human known as Lister. Do not attempt to resist me.
What happened to him?
His voice finally break?
- Who are you?
- Tremble at my name, for I am the Inquisitor.
- The Inquisitor?
- Your vessel is under my control.
it will return you to your mothership
where you will face judgement.
You will each present a case
to justify your existence.
If you fail, you will be deleted.
Are you OK, sir?
Yeah. God, I think so.
A little bit shaky.
I think we should run you through the
medi-scan though, just as a precaution.
Yeah, OK.
So, Kryten, you've heard of this Inquisitor?
Only as a myth, a dark fable, a horror tale,
told across the flickering embers
of a midnight fire
wherever hardened space dogs gather
to drink fermented vegetable products
and compete in tales of blood-chilling terror.
A simple "yes" would have sufficed.
- So who is he?
- Yeah, what's his beef?
Well, the legend tells of a droid,
a self-repairing simulant,
who survives till the end of eternity,
to the end of time itself.
After millions of years alone, he finally
reaches the conclusion that there is no God,
no afterlife, and the only purpose
of existence is to lead a worthwhile life.
And so the droid constructs a time machine
and roams eternity, visiting every single
soul in history and assessing each one.
He erases those who wasted their lives
and replaces them with those that never had
a chance of life, the unfertilised eggs,
the sperms that never made it.
That is the Inquisitor.
He prunes away the wastrels,
expunges the wretched
and deletes the worthless.
We're in big trouble.
Wait a minute, who's to say what's worthless?
Oh, please! Look in the mirror.
Read your entry in "Who's Nobody".
No, I mean it. Whose to judge?
Who's to say what's worthwhile?
Well, let's face it Listy, Lying
on your bunk reading "What Bike"
and eating Sugar Puff sandwiches for eight
hours every day is unlikely to qualify.
So because I haven't written any symphonies
or painted the Sistine Chapel, that makes me prunable?
No, being a totally worthless, unwashed
space bum, that's what makes you prunable.
Precisely. The criterion is not fame,
it is simply to have lived a worthwhile life.
Why did no one mention this before?
If I'd been told about this at the start that
the object was to lead a worthwhile life,
I could have done something about it.
All those charity telethons when I
used to ring in and pledge donations,
If I'd have known all this, I would
have given them MY credit card number.
Sir, you don't have to be a great philanthropist, or a
missionary worker, you simply have to seize the gift of life...
- Oh, God.
- ...make a contribution...
- Oh, God.
- ...no matter how small.
You simply have to have lead a life that
wasn't totally egocentric, vain and self-serving.
You're doing this on purpose aren't you?
- Well, I'm just trying to make you feel better, sir
- Well, shut up, then!
Hang on a minute. Why should we take
any notice of some half-crazed rogue robot
who's appointed himself judge
and jury to the whole of humanity?
Why should we kowtow to his judgement?
Because I have the power
to snap your body in two like a dry reed!
Good answer, man. Good answer!
- So where is he?
- See me now and tremble!
The inquisition begins. Prove to me
you are worthy of the honour of life
or drink deeply from the well
of nothingness for all eternity.
I hate these "either/or" questions.
Who is to be first?
Lister!
The hologram. You shall be first.
(SQUEAKS) Pardon? Sorry.
You have been granted
the greatest gift of all - the gift of life.
Tell me, what you have done
to deserve this superlative good fortune?
Well, I say this with the highest respect,
but what gives you the right to ask -
no, actually, demand -
that answer of me, Your Magnificence?
All must answer to the Inquisitor!
How do I know I'll get a fair hearing?
Because, like all who stand
before the Inquisitor, your judge shall be...
(CHEERILY) ...yourself!
- Oh, smeg.
- "Oh, smeg" indeed, matey.
Everyone is judged by their own self?
It's a bit metaphysical, I know,
but it's the only fair way.
Now, then. Justify yourself.
Well, first I...
- Liar.
- I've done good things.
- No, you haven't.
- In my heart, I've always tried to do good things.
- No, you didn't.
- Look, in my way, I've tried to lead a good life.
When?
Ah! What's that in the corner? It's the Archangel Gabriel!
Well, that's me converted, I'm a new man, Hallelujah!
You are a slimy, despicable, rat-hearted,
green discharge of a man, aren't you?
Well... sort of, yes.
So, then, justify yourself.
What else could I have been?
My father was a half-crazed military failure,
my mother was a bitch-queen from hell..
My brothers had all the looks and talent.
And what did I have?
Unmanageable hair and ingrowing toenails.
Yes, I admit I'm nothing.
But from what I started with, nothing is up.
Hi, buddy.
This is your judgement day, bud.
I gotta be cruel. There can't be no favours.
I'm hearing you on FM.
I have to ask you the question -
justify your existence.
What contribution have you made?
I have given pleasure to the world
because I have such a beautiful ass.
- Well, that's true.
- Can I go now?
- That's your case?
- You need more?!
Some might say that's a pretty shallow argument.
Some might say I'm a pretty shallow guy.
But a shallow guy with a great ass.
- Sometimes you astonish even me.
- Thank you.
Well, Kryten, justify yourself.
I'm not sure I can.
But, surely your life is replete with good works.
There can be few individuals who
have lived a more selfless life.
But I am programmed to live unselfishly, and therefore
any good works I do come not out of fine motives,
but as a result of a series of binary
commands I am compelled to obey.
well, then, how can any
mechanical justify himself?
Perhaps only if he attempted to break his programming
and conduct his life according to a set
of values he arrived at independently.
Your argument invites deletion.
- The rules are yours, not mine.
- Do you wish to be erased?
Well, I am programmed
not to wish for anything. I serve.
In a human, this behaviour
might be considered stubborn.
But I am not human, and neither are you.
And it is not our place to judge them.
I wonder why you do?
(BOOMING VOICE) Enough.
Well... get out of this one, smeghead.
What you talkin' about?
You know what you could've made of your life
it you tried - what you could've become.
- So?
- You've got brains, man. Brains you've never used.
- So?
- So justify yourself.
Spin on it!
The inquisition is over.
I have reached my verdict.
Two of you have failed to become
that which you might so easily have been.
You have lived without merit,
and so not lived at all
(WHOOSH)
- You scum! You've wiped them out!
- Sir...
He's crazy, Kryten.
He's erased the Cat and Rimmer.
- They are quite safe.
- Sir...
I'm afraid it is we are to be erased.
Ah.
The Cat has lead a more worthwhile
life than either of us?
He is a shallow and selfish creature,
as is the hologram.
By their own low standards,
they have acquitted themselves.
Whereas you and the mechanoid
could have been so much more.
(WHOOSH)
- What's this?
- Best guess, we are being surgically removed from time.
Every memory of us, every action we ever performed
is being dissolved. Our lives are being undone.
It is complete. The time-lines are knitted.
Causality is healed.
All that remains is to remove
your physical forms from existence.
Well, if you've got some amazing secret plan
up your sleeve, Kryten,
now's the time to mention it.
No plan, sir.
No sleeves.
- (WHOOSH)
- Perfect. Ah, now, what did I do next?
(BUZZING)
(INQUISITOR WAILS)
Now, hurry! Take the gauntlet and go!
- What the smeg is goin' on?
- I don't have time to explain.
I've come from the future
to rescue you. Now you must go, hurry!
What about me... I mean you... I mean us?
- I'm afraid we get killed.
- Killed? How?
While I'm standing here explaining this to you
the Inquisitor jumps me from behind like this...
You can't save me. Before you reach
the final confrontation in the storage bay,
you must have decoded the gauntlet's controls.
- How? Can you give us a clue?
- I cannot explain.
For some bizarre reason, my final words are "enig".
- "Enig"?
- Yes. Enig...
- Come on, sir we have to go.
- He's just killed you, Kryten!
Sir, we have to go!
- (BLEEP)
- You are not registered as personnel of this vessel.
- Please state your name and clearance code.
- It's us, Hol!
- Please state your name and clearance code.
- Lister, D, 000-169.
I have no record of your palm print.
Intruder alert!
- Initiating override.
- Please state your name and clearance code.
Logon name, Kryten.
Registration code, Additional 001.
I have no record of your CPU ident.
- (SIREN SOUNDS)
- We don't exist any more.
- (YELLS)
- Tear gas!
(WAILS)
Oh, thank God it's you guys.
- Move so much as an eyebrow, boy, and you're dog meat.
- What, it's us!
- Who are you people, what do you want?
- Rimmer, it's me.
- How do you know my name?
- Don't fall for that one, bud. He read it on your uniform.
Sir, they've never met us before.
We are limbo people between realities.
They have no memory of us.
So, I'm going to ask you one
more time. What do you want?
Yo, we're not the enemy. There's a guy round here somewhere,
wandering around obliterating people from history.
- We used to be your shipmates.
- Only we've forgotten you (!)
Yeah.
Well, I don't know about
you but I'm convinced {!)
- Rimmer, I know you.
- Well, if you do know me,
you'll know I'm a kind of rough-and-tumble, hardened astro
ex-marine type guy you do not trifle with.
No, you're not!
- For the last time of asking-
- Fiona Barrington.
Fifteen years of age. You got off with her
in your Dad's greenhouse.
You thought you got lucky but it turned out all the time
that you had your hand in warm compost.
- How could I know that, and not know you?
- Not true.
You got three brothers, John, Howard
and Frank. You're really mean with money.
You're a tremendous physical coward. You once
spent an afternoon on a Samaritans switchboard,
and four people
committed suicide.
Your middle name's Judas, but you tell everyone that it's Jonathan.
You sign all your official letters 'A. J. Rimmer, BSc'.
and BSc stands for Bronze Swimming Certificate.
You're a cheating, weaselly, lowlife scumbucket