Series V - Quarantine - All scenes

("RED DWARF" THEME)

(WIND WHISTLES)

(KRYTEN) Gravity 1.5.
Wind 40 knots and variable.

Coordinates locked and set. Launch scouter.

Wait a minute. I'm in charge of security
and surveillance aboard this vessel.

I, Mr Kryten, am the one
who says "Launch scouter".

I'm sorry, sir,
I didn't mean to steal your thunder.

Launch scouter.

I'll be in the stern, correlating the...

in the stern.

Would you be so good
as to launch the scouter, sir?

Ave-aye, sir!

Scouter launched, sir!

Sir, it appears we've encountered
a scientific research centre.

- And someone's in there, man. A survivor.
- A Dr Hildegarde Lanstrom.

Clearly, I am superfluous
to this entire operation,

ably commanded as it is by a droid
who was created purely to clean lavatories,

so I really don't know why you are
telling me all this, Captain Bog-Bot.

She's a hologram.

I'm afraid we're going to have to commandeer your
remote projection unit in order to rescue her, sir.

Oh, I see. First of all, I'm deemed unsuitable
to issue the command "launch scouter",

and now I'm being bundled into an escape pod
and relieved of my duties by Commander U-Bend.

Rimmer, why are you taking this so personal.
It's the only way to get her back to the ship.

- Why do we need another hologram on board?
- She's a doctor, sir.

- She would be a valuable asset to the team.
- And as usual, it's left to me

to point out the fatal flaw in your logic.

- Flaw?
- This vessel, gentlemen and khazi droids...

the crimson short one up there, can only
sustain one hologram, or had you forgotten?

- You hadn't forgotten?
- Look, we'll work something out.

Some kind of "timeshare" thing.

What do you mean? What do you
think I am, a holiday villa in the Algarve?

Sir, might I remind you, as Space Corps
Directive 169 quite clearly states...

Holly, prepare an escape pod.

Anything to save me from another
(MIMICS KRYTEN) "Space Corps Directive".

Sir, the Space Corps Directives are there to protect us.

They're not a set of vindictive pronouncements
directed against any one person.

Has anyone ever seen this legendary
Space Corps Directive manual?

- Well, no.
- He's making it up isn't he?

- The bloody book doesn't exist.
- Sir, I assure you...

Why does he only ever use them against
me, why are they never against Lister?

Why do we never hear him
quoting Space Corps Directives

that clearly state, "No crew member should floss
his teeth with the E-string of his guitar

"after spraying the entire contents of his Sugar Puff
sandwich all over his superior's bunk"

- We never hear that one, do we?
- Holly, kindly furnish Mr Rimmer

with a hologrammatic copy
of the Space Corps Directive manual.

- Come on. Where is it?
- That's it?!

You should be able to study it at your
leisure on your trip back to Red Dwarf, sir.

- You've changed, you know that?
- Changed?

They may not see it, but I do.
I know what's going on.

You've become a really nasty piece of work.

- Sir, I was merely...
- You're merely a mechanoid, that's all you're 'merely'.

Don't ever forget it.

What a smee...

What a smee... heeeeeeee...

(CALLS OUT) Dr Lanstrom?

(KRYTEN) Are you there, Doctor?

Oh, brutal.

There's no need for alarm, sir. If there were
dangerous viral strains in the atmosphere,

the psi-scan would have
picked them up by now.

It's never done that before.

(MUTTERS) Blasted, stupid...
Cheap damn stupid Martian power packs.

(BUZZES)

So what's the news?

Well, If i can just beg your indulgences for just a few seconds more, sir.

The old 345 takes a little time to warm up.

Still, it out-performs the 346
in eight out of nine bench tests.

A small wonder, then, that it secured "Psi-Scan of the
Year, Best Budget Model" three years running.

Now here are the results...

And we're going to...

live.

We're a real Mickey Mouse operation, aren't we?

Mickey Mouse? We ain't even Betty Boop!

Oh. Extraordinary.

Incredible.

(LISTER) Hey, look at this.

A nest of stasis pods.

I must have triggered something.

Doctor? Doctor Lanstrom?

(GERMAN ACCENT) And who might you be?

Hi. We were just passing.
We picked up the beacon.

Schopenhauer was right, wouldn't you say?

Life without pain has no meaning.

Gentlemen, I wish to give your lives meaning.

(EERIE WAILING)
- Cat...

Why can't we ever
meet anyone nice?

Why is it we can never meet
anyone who can shoot straight?

I'm telling you, Kryten is
taking over, slowly but surely.

Remember how he used to be in the
early days? A gibbering wreck

completely unassertive, no self-confidence, plagued
by guilt, convinced he was fourth-rate?

- I really liked him then.
- Escape pod checked and standing by.

- Well, check it again.
- I've done three complete checks.

- It's ready to launch.
- Right, I'm going.

What really gets my goat, is the
way he thinks he can order me about.

Well, he who lives by the
rule book, dies by the rule book.

(LISTER ON RADIO) Can you hear us? It's me.
Listen man, Lanstrom's got some holo-virus.

- She's totally barking!
- Listy?

We need back-up, man. We
need it bad. We need it now.

Everything OK?

- What? Can't you hear me?
- I'm sorry, Lister, you're very faint.

(KRYTEN) Dr Lanstrom has contracted
some kind of mutated holo-plague

and is in a fearful psychopathic fury.

Marvellous!

I'm sure she'll be a valuable asset
to the team.

Sir, I'm going to change the frequency.
Can you hear me now?

Hello. My name is Dr Hildegarde Lanstrom
and I am quite, quite mad.

Are you really? How absolutely splendid.

I have a riddle for you.

What's dead and dead and dead all over?

Give in, Dr Fruit-Loop. Do tell me.

(MOCKING TONE) Yoooooooooooou...

Well, we know what to get you for Christmas:
a double-lobotomy and 10 rolls of rubber wallpaper.

Holly, I really must be making tracks.
Keep me updated as to any further developments, will you?

Where is she?

I fear she's toying with us, sir.

- What kind of disease gives her hex vision?
- Clearly some kind of psi-virus, sir.

It appears to stimulate the dormant psychic areas of the brain,

which, until now, humankind
has been unable to harness.

Unfortunately, it requires so much energy,
it drains the victim's life-force.

That's why she
was in the stasis pod?

Precisely. Lanstrom was preserving
what little lifespan remains her.

Well, if she's running out of time, maybe we can just give her the run-around.

Theoretically, a sound notion, sir.
Unfortunately...

Unfortunately, she has already found you.

Twinkle, twinkle, little eye,

now it's time for you to die.

(WAILS IN AGONY)

Poor woman. Destroyed by her own genius.

- Genius?
- Oh, yes. From what little I've seen of her research,

before the holo-virus, she
had a quite remarkable mind.

If I'm right, the fruits of
her work should live on.

- Anything?
- Quite extraordinary.

Lanstrom postulated that there were
two kinds of virus - positive and negative.

- The negative we already know about.
- Yeah, like flu, rabies, that kind of stuff.

But she also believed that there were positive viral
strains which actually made humans feel better.

Such as?

Well, at a very basic level,
she predicted a kind of reverse flu,

a strain of virus which promotes an unaccountable
feeling of well-being and happiness.

That's happened to me. My life's
been turned to complete and utter crud,

and I've woken up in the morning,
feeling good for no apparent reason.

The chances are, sir, that on those occasions you had
unwittingly contracted Lanstrom's virus.

According to her notes, 20th-century DJs
suffered from it all the time.

So what's in the tubes?

Lanstrom claims to have isolated
several strains of positive virus.

Inspiration, charisma, sexual magnetism...

Sexual magnetism's a virus?
Well, get me to hospital, I'm a terminal case!

This one is the most intriguing of all.
According to her notes,

this is the viral strain Felicitus populi,
commonly known as "luck."

- Luck is a virus?
- A positive virus,

which most humans contract at some point
in their lives for very short periods.

And here it is,
Lady Luck in liquid form. Want to try some?

- Is it safe?
- Absolutely harmless.

Even so, this is a minute dose
will only last for about three minutes.

Now, I want you to pick out all the aces
from this pack of cards.

- Shuffle 'em?
- Mm-hmm.

13 to 1.

221 to 1.

5,525 to 1.

270,725 to 1.

Sir, I wan't you to throw this dart over here
into that bullseye behind you

using your left hand, without looking.

- Using my left hand?
- Hm-mmm.

- Into the bulls-eye?
- Hm-mmm.

- Without looking?
- Hm-mmm

- No chance.
- Trust me, sir.

- You ready?
- Hm-mmm!

(DULL THUD)

Ah. I think that indicates
the luck virus has worn off.

When you're quite finished, chaps. we've got
a bit of a problem with the cargo bay doors.

- What sort of problem?
- They won't open.

- Rimmer's put in an override.
- Welcome home, gentlemen.

If you'd like to proceed to the aft, you'll
find the landing lights on in Bay 47.

Bay 47? That's quarantine!

- Spot on.
- But, sir, I've screened us all. We're clean.

Well, much as I trust a viral screening
conducted by an automated toilet attendant,

I really must draw your attention
to Space Corps Directive 595.

- For cryin' out loud!
- I have no intention of contracting

the hologrammatic equivalent
of foaming dog fever.

So, gentlemen, if you'd all like to proceed to quarantine room 152,

where you will be spending
the next three months.

(DOOR HUMS)

12 weeks. I have a deep, dark
sense of foreboding about this.

Oh, come on. we'll get through it.

- This is single quarters. One chair, one bed, one shower.
- We'll manage.

Sir, it's a scientific fact that the
human male needs to spend time by himself.

- It is?
- Hmm.

The most popular pastimes have always
been ones that males can enjoy alone -

angling, golf
and, of course, the all-time number one.

It's not just humans. Look what happens when two male tigers are locked up together,

one of them winds up on the other guy's toothpick.

Lions, tigers, scorpions, rats...
even vultures when they're in captivity.

What are you saying to me?
Vultures need personal space?

They need time alone to put their feet up
and read "What Carcass?" magazine?

Sir, I think you're downplaying
the gravity of the situation.

Look, what difference does it make? We hang
out together most of the time anyway.

Yeah, but we all knew we could stroll
out the door at any time. Not now, though.

Welcome to quarantine, lads.
I hope the next 84 days pass as swiftly

and pleasantly as the 100 Years' War.

Sir, I must protest. You've only supplied
us with single-berth accommodation.

Space Corps Directive 597 clearly states
one berth per registered crew member.

And as Listy is the only registered
crew member, one berth is all you get.

- Don't rise to him.
- What about entertainment?

You are obliged to provide us
with minimum leisure facilities.

Games, literature,
hobby activities, motion pictures.

And in accordance with Space Corps Directive 312,
you'll find in the storage cupboard over there.

a chess set with 31 missing pieces,

a knitting magazine
with a pull-out special on crocheted hats,

a puzzle magazine
with all the crosswords completed

and a video of the excellent cinematic treat "Wallpapering,
Painting and Stippling - a DIY Guide".

Don't rise to him.

And fulfilling all Space
Corps dietary requirements,

dinner tonight, gentlemen,
will consist of sprout soup,

followed by sprout salad,

and for dessert - I think you'll like it,
rather unusual - sprout crumble.

Rimmer, you know damn well
sprouts make me chuck.

Well, this is awful. I've got you down
for sprouts almost every meal.

I tell a lie. It IS every meal.

- How long are you going to keep this up for, Rimmer?
- Keep what up?

I'm merely executing Space Corps Directive 595.

Anyway, must dasheroonie. I've got to organise
your daily provision of musical entertainment.

I think you're going to like it. It's a perpetually
looped tape of "Reggie Dixon's Tango Treats".

OK. Time to rise to him.
Let me at him! I'll kill him!

Listen guys, he wants us to get on each other's
nerves. Go through twelve weeks of hell.

Well, we're not going to give him the satisfaction.

OK, 'cause the entire time we're here, we're not gonna have
one single argument, not a raised voice, not a cross word,