(STIRRING MUSIC)
(FLUSHING)
(WHOOSHING)
Hello? Testing - one, two, three.
Hello? Yes!
OK. Here we go. Ship's log...um...one.
I've decided to keep a journal of life
on-board ship and send it off in a probe.
Since turning 28,
I feel a new maturity about myself.
In fact, I can't even remember the last time
I tried to urinate on Rimmer from the top of D-deck...
No, wait a minute - Friday.
But apart from that one lapse,
Maturity wise, I'm practically
up there with Abe Lincoln and Moses.
Now, just recently we came across a craft,
piloted by ourselves from 15 years into the future.
We had a bit of an argument,
and they attacked us. See attached...
- Another lock!
- Incoming message.
Either you give us access to the
data we require
or be prepared to be blasted out of the sky.
(RIMMER) Cat!
Dead. But there may be a...
Kryten!
There may be a what? A way out of this?
Is that what you were going to say?
S...speak, Kryten.
How can we change what's happening?
We were no match. They killed us
and destroyed everything onboard ship,
including the Time Drive,
which meant there was no Time Drive for them
to have in the future to bring back into the past
to destroy the future of their
past selves in the present.
Put simply, by killing us they
killed themselves,
because once we were dead it was impossible
for us to become them in the future
and return in time to kill ourselves
in the past even though it was the present.
(BUZZING)
Oh, smeg!
Have you been trying to explain about
our future selves again, sir?
- I just thought I'd have one more go.
- That's the third camera this week!
The machines just can't take it, sir.
But I'm only trying to explain why Starbug's
damaged despite the timeline being erased
because this reality's unstable and anomalies have
merged from both dimensions to cope with the paradox.
Oh! Garbled, confusing
and, quite frankly, duller than an
in-flight magazine produced by Air Belgium.
Now, just state our position
and explain we're down on supplies.
All right! All right!
This is Dave Lister
of the JMC transport vehicle Starbug.
We're down on supplies. We need help. Out.
Oh by the way, we're in space.
Just passed a sort of reddy
moon a couple of days ago.
Coordinates enclosed.
It's about that shape. You can't miss it.
("RED DWARF" THEME)
(LISTER) Ship's log update, Friday am.
The battle with our future selves
has had the most terrible consequence.
Wiped out? Kryten, man, they can't be.
I'm afraid so, sir. The laser cannon breached
the main water tank and flooded Supply Deck B.
- They didn't stand a chance.
- Yeah, but surely...
There was nothing we
could do to save them, sir.
So, you mean...
now we've got no poppadoms at all?
No poppadoms, no curries...
All the Indian food supplies have been totalled.
I'll have to survive without them, then.
- I'll have salads.
- Sir, you're in shock.
- You don't know what you're saying.
- After all, it's only curry.
Oh "only curry", the
enormity of it hasn't sunk in.
You must mourn, sir. Don't
you see? You must mourn.
- Me curries.
- Oh, sir.
Get it out. Cry like a baby.
What am I gonna do? Curry night
was the one little beacon I had.
It made me feel like a normal ordinary guy,
not some sad freak stuck in deep space -
no woman, no hope, no curry.
Worse still, a choice of only two alcoholic
beverages - Cinzano Bianco or advocaat.
- It's a human tragedy.
- No lager?!
Sir, there is nothing unmanly
in howling like a hungry prairie dog.
- No Lager?!
- All the supplies on B-deck were destroyed, sir.
There wasn't even any wreckage, no debris, zip.
God... A few beers and a curry,
it was the highlight of my week!
I used to look forward
to curry night, too, sir.
Seeing your little face
all happy and smiling.
Come rain or shine, we'd always make time
for curry night every Friday.
- Saturday.
- Sunday.
- Tuesday.
- Wednesday.
And Thursday. Always the same meal -
three poppadoms with mango chutney.
- Those little onions.
- Dill pickle.
That Day-Glo green mint sauce
that just doesn't wash out.
- And that weird red stuff that no one knows what it is.
- Then a shami kebab starter.
Followed by a chicken vindaloo, kamikaze hot,
with a fire extinguisher on standby.
And two scoops of kulfi ice-cream.
And two indigestion tablets.
Oh, life without curry?
It's like Laurel without Hardy,
the Lone Ranger without... that Indian bloke.
Sir...
Perhaps you could learn to love pasta?
Pasta? You sick?
You know the news?
All the curry supplies have been destroyed.
We heard.
As a mark of respect, we thought on Sunday at
12 o'clock we could have a minute's flatulence.
It's nothing to you guys, is it?
Curries were my life.
God, some of the nights! I remember
once on planet leave on Orion,
I drank a yard of vindaloo sauce, you
know out of one of those long glass tubes?
And then went out on
the pull. It was a bet.
It's impossible for mechanoids to vomit, sir,
I believe it is safe for you to continue.
I went to this club, the Crazy Astro,
started dancing with this Space Corps nurse.
- Couldn't hear her name.
- Fido, was it?
- Lassie, possibly?
- She was very attractive, actually, Rimmer.
Very short skirt, little ankle bracelet, took out her chewing
gum before she ate her chicken in a basket. You know, class.
All right, so she had teeth that
looked like six half-open garage doors,
but it was nothing a cosmetic
surgeon couldn't fix in ten minutes.
- So what happened?
- I went over to her, leant in close,
asked her to dance...
- For a few seconds, she didn't answer.
- She was probably concussed.
A yard of vindaloo sauce? You must have had
breath that could shear sheep.
- We started to snuggle up...
- I'm not sure I want to hear any more of this.
Then all of a sudden... a rumbling in me stomach.
AlI I can remember is running.
Across the dance floor, through the crowd.
- Just made it.
- So you didn't get off with her?
Only thing I got off was
the loo about six hours later.
When I got back to the dance floor, everyone
was gone. They had to wait for me to lock the club!
God, nearly put me off curries for life. In fact, I
didn't have another one until the following night.
What an enchanting little tale.
Well, if you'll excuse me I'm just off to
glug a couple of yards of vindi sauce,
then if we do happen to chance across
Planet of the Snooty Sex Sirens', I can't miss.
Sirs, I suggest we carry out
a thorough inspection of the ship.
The altercation with our future selves
caused dimensional anomalies
which have expanded the cargo deck by 212%.
We should ascertain that
the new structures are stable.
(CAT) Time has returned to the point before
we discovered the time machine, right?
So what's to stop us going back on board the
Gemini 12 and picking it up all over again?
We have to avoid all forms of time travel.
It's the only way of breaking our destiny line and
ensuring we don't end up like our future selves.
Yeah, but surely we can use
the Time Drive if we're careful?
You know, if we don't abuse it
in the way our future selves did?
- You know, if we're sensible and mature.
- And do what?
Go back in time to an Indian
takeaway and order 500 curries.
Sir, the scheme is irresponsible,
moronic and preposterous!
All your hallmarks, bud!
One really big takeaway order once every
two years and our problems are over.
YOUR problems are over.
OUR problems are just beginning.
What about causality? Interfering
in the past, no matter how minutely,
always alters the present - cause and effect.
Look, I'm a curry-aholic!
I've only got two taste buds that work.
I need curry.
We can't afford to take any more chances.
I say the Time Drive stays where it is.
You know I'd rather wear sideways-pressed flares
and a clip-on polyester tie than agree with Goalpost Head,
but this time he's right.
Oh, OK. OK.
(KRYTEN) Since that completes
the B-deck inspection, sirs,
permission to off-line for the next 12 hours
while I discard some old cache files?
How come you need more memory?
Over the years, you've had more RAM
than a field of sheep.
My head is littered
with unnecessary information, sir.
The ability to sing the Bay City Rollers'
greatest hits is no longer a priority.
For the most cultural purposes, crooning
"Bye Bye, Baby" is more than sufficient.
This clean-up thing, how does it work, exactly?
I simply attach my RAM to the ship's computer
and download the unwanted files into its trash file.
Your RAM's in your head, isn't it?
So you won't actually be using your body, then?
- Why do you ask?
- Just interested.
Robotics, it's fascinating, isn't it?
(ALARM RINGS)
(CLICKS)
- My heavens! I'm head Head!
- Shh!
- This is only temporary.
- I don't understand.
Look, I want to go back in time on a curry hunt.
Kryten said "no way". What do you say?
I can't go behind Kryten's head.
What would he say if he found out?
It's deceitful, wrong and dishonest.
I'm in! Those are emotions
I've longed to experience,
but first you'll have to override my guilt
chip and disable my behaviour protocols.
- OK. Show me how
- Press the skull release catch behind my right ear.
(BLEEPING)
OK, here we go.
My guilt chip.
No behaviour protocols.
Just call me "bad ass"!
Oooooooooooooooow!
I feel great! Got all the beauty sleep
I needed. Stayed awake all night.
Hey, that smells good. What's for brekkie?
Waffles, sir, dripping in honey and jam
with three fried eggs on the sid, coated in cheese!
- That sounds about as healthy as jumping off a cliff.
- Healthy? Who cares? Pork away!
(WHIRRS)
So, um...Kryten,
now that you've had time to think,
what about that curry
hunt to the 22nd Century?
Ooh, I meant to mention that, yes. I overreacted yesterday.
On reflection, I think it'd be quite safe.
- Safe?
- What about causality?
Causality? Well, OK, you know,
one event causes another, OK
but sometimes, you just gotta say,
"The laws of time and space? Who gives a smeg?"
Ah, I think what Kryten's
trying to say here is...
- You're smoking!
- Oh, is my generator overheating again?
- A cigarette.
- D'you want one?
- Of course I don't want one!
- D'you want me to go outside?
I think what Kryten's trying to say
is that it's OK to go back in time
and order a small lake's worth
of vindaloo to go, isn't that right?
- You bet your ass!
- OK, so let's navigate those reality bubbles and do it.
Kryten, can I have a word?
Look, what is wrong with you? You don't smoke,
you never say "bet your ass",
and you never use your groinal
attachment to stir anybody's tea!
- I didn't get any error commands.
- Yeah, because you've got no behaviour protocols, ya spanny
- Now, get a grip or we'll be rumbled.
- (WHIRRS)
So uptight.
(KRYTEN HUMS FUNKY TUNE)
What is wrong
with that demented Tonka toy now?
He's just got a bit of a bio-glitch in his transponder
calibrations. It's only temporary.
Hey, Mr Time Drive!
OK, Kryten,
we want the Taj Mahal Tandoori Restaurant
behind the JMC building in London.
- Back table. Quiet.
- I'll need a moment to acquaint myself with the controls.
- But you've used it before.
- Have I?
Oh, yes, of course I have. Sorry. Stupid of me.
Just programming it now, matey boy.
(GUNSHOT)
Nice landing, Kryten. (!)
That was about as smooth as Egyptian whiskey.
Apologies, sir. I'm not sure what I did then.
This isn't right. Where are we?
Well, according to the Time Drive,
the date is November 22nd 1963,
and we're in the city of Dallas.
How come? Gimme that thing!
I've always been a bit of a technical whiz
when it comes to these kinds of gizmos.
You're right. Dallas, '63. No doubt about it.
(SIRENS WAIL)
Dallas? Wasn't that that place
where that American king got assassinated?
- JFK.
- No, it was John something, not Jeff Kay.
J-F-K, not Jeff Kay, you gimboid. Like the
airport. I did a paper on him at school.
I wonder why would anyone would
wanna name their kid after an airport?
Heathrow Lister.
John, Paul, George and Ringway.
Well, actually, that could work.
- The airport was named after the president.
- All right.
We didn't do 20th-century history
at my school. It didn't seem interesting to me.
Apart from nuclear fusion and some really
snazzy car adverts, they did nothing.
The last human being alive
and he's got less brains
than a macaque rhesus monkey after the first
course of a Vietnamese wedding banquet.
(SIRENS WAIL)
Where did this gunman dude shoot from exactly anyway?
Well, if my Histo-Chip serves me correctly,
the gunman's location
was in the Texas Book Depository.
It was probably from this very window!
What, do you reckon?
Hey, what's this?
Hey! There's something
on the end of this! Give us a hand!
Pull! Whoever they are, they're in trouble!
(WAILS)
Hey, what's going on down there?
What are all those people doing
gathered around that giant pizza?
That is not a giant pizza, sir.
It's eight foot across, man.
You don't think that's giant?
What kind of pizza house
have you been going to? The Fat Bastardoria?
Hey, look at this! I think we just pulled
the gunman out of the window!
FBI! Drop the gun!
- Don't shoot!
- Hands on heads!
You are hereby charged with
the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald,
who valiantly tried to foil your
attempt to assassinate the President
Thanks to Mr Oswald, the president is alive, but wounded.
What is that? Some kind of weapon?
Kick it over here!
(WHOOSH)
Oh! Nice one, Kryts.
- Where are we?
- It says 1966.
I must have prodded us forward three years.
At least it'll give us time to analyse the original error.
Hey, there's nobody here.
The entire city's deserted.
I don't understand it.
All we did was save Kennedy's life.
- Is that bad? What kind of a dude was he?
- He was a fine man.
Look!
- Can you get anything for us from his scent?
- (SNIFFS)
Male.
Mid-thirties. Last meal...
a salt beef sandwich
with extra mayo and a gherkin.
Smoker. Starched shirt. Probably married.
Eric White. Single, vegetarian... and
chairman of the Anti-Smoking League.
I bet I'm right about the gherkin, though.
It looks like he was trampled to death
in some kind of stampede.
Just processing. (BLEEPS)
I'll re-route the results
through my chest monitor.
President Kennedy was impeached in 1964
for sharing a mistress
with Mafia boss Sam Giancana.
It was the biggest scandal
in American history.
Kennedy was sentenced to three years
in an open prison in July '65.
J Edgar Hoover became president.
He was forced to run by the mob,
who had pictures of him
at a transvestite orgy.
So America had a president
controlled by the Mafia?
Soon after his election, the USSR were
allowed to install a nuclear base in Cuba
in return for Mafia cocaine trafficking
between Cuba and the States.
With a Soviet nuclear base
30 miles from the US mainland,
people fled from all the major cities.
So am I right in thinking there's a chance I could
get a major nuclear explosion all over this suit?
Cause I'm telling you guys,
that stuff does not dry-clean!
- Back to Starbug.
- Starbug isn't there. It doesn't exist.
- What?
- How come?
Best guess, Kennedy's impeachment
in '64 traumatised the American nation,
allowing the USSR to win the space race.
In this reality, it was probably the Russians
who were the first to land on the Moon.
So we're marooned?
How was I supposed to know a chicken
vindaloo was going to cause all this?
- But you guys said Kennedy was a great pres.
- He was.
He was also an inveterate womaniser.
His affairs were legendary.
- They never came out when he was alive.
- Every man has his weak spot, his Achilles' heel.
Kennedy's was just higher up.
If I knew this was gonna happen, I would've had
an egg sarnie and finished the Cinzano.
Kryten, what've I done, man?
Well, you've brought the 20th century
to the very brink of extinction, sir.
- Gum?
- What is wrong with you?
Where is your compassion? You've got about
as much warmth as a service station chip!
That's right, you've got no behaviour protocols, have ya?
And you thought causality didn't matter?
Every action we take has trillions of
implications. How come you forgot that?
Oh, I didn't forget, sir.
I just didn't care. I've got no guilt.
Ah.
I nicked Kryten's body.
That's Spare Head Two.
I removed his guilt chip.
You have altered the entire course of
civilisation from the 20th century onwards,
you've brought the world to the
bring of nuclear war, and worst of all...
I know, I know. I still haven't had a curry.
No, worst of all, the Time Drive has frozen.
Let me see.
Do you think it's because the sub-space conduits
have locked with the transponder calibrations
and caused a major tachyon surge
that has overloaded the time matrix?
No, sir. I've just been jabbing it too hard.
So what now?
We need to have time to work out how to unfreeze it.
I suggest we set up camp here for the night, and
perhaps 'Kryten' can go and look for some food.
I'm on my way, sir!
How can the same guy be an icon in one reality
and a criminal in the next
for doing exactly the same things?
- In one reality, he wasn't caught.
- Yeah, but was he a good guy or not a good guy?
- Both.
- But somewhere along the way, just like me,
he disabled his guilt chip
and discarded his behaviour protocols.
- Power corrupts.
- Is it true?
- Can you be two things simultaneously?
- Take you, sir.
In some ways,
you're bright, sensitive and caring.
In other ways, you're an irresponsible,
curry-obsessed moron.
Thanks, Kryten. That's... Wow, yeah.
It's hopeless. I can't fix it. We're trapped.
- Chicken's good.
- Yeah, yeah, it's really good.
- That's not chicken, sirs.
- Oh, what is it?
It's that man we found. It's Eric.
- What?
- Well, it seemed such a waste
to just leave him lying there
when he'd barbecue so beautifully.
- (SNIGGERS)
- Did I do wrong? I didn't get any error commands.
Obviously, I thought about it because without my guilt
chip or moral imperatives I had nothing to guide me.
But it seemed to me
that if humanoids eat chicken,
then obviously they'd eat their own species,
otherwise they'd just be picking on the chickens.
One minute you're down,
the next you're right back up again.
- I just said I was enjoying that.
- I knew it didn't smell right! Oh, my God!
- I'm a cannibal!
- (BLEEPING)
- Look!
- Right, let's get out of here!
I badly need to floss a piece of
roasted dead person out of my teeth!
- Where to?
- Ah, Hawaii. Let's catch some surf.
No. No. We've got to go back and stop ourselves
interfering with the assassination.
I don't care where we go,
as long as it's before we had dinner!
- Decorators.
- Try up on the sixth floor.
Isn't this sick, I mean just standing by
and allow the president to be killed?
- Not if you're Eric White it ain't.
- To think, Eric's out there right now
without any idea that one day he'll become a
between-meals snack that does ruin your appetite.
Unless we put things back the way they were.
Stand back, sir,
our original selves are about to beam in.
When they realise their mistake they'll beam
out again. I propose we go down to the fourth.
- (GUNSHOT)
- First shot!
- It doesn't smell right. I think he's missed.
- How come?
He's right, sir, by sending Oswald up to the sixth,
we've made the trajectory of his shot
so steep he's only wounded him.
Let's start again and bring
him back down to the fifth.
We can't use the fifth. Our original selves are
destined to beam in there as fires his third shot
and this version of
us is now on the fourth.
We've been copied more times than that poster
of the tennis girl scratching her butt.
If we could arrange
somehow for a second gunman
to fire from just behind that little
hill over there, covered in lawn...
You mean the, er... the grassy knoll, sir?
Yeah, that'd solve it, wouldn't it?
Shoot the pres? Who?
- You can count me out.
- Yeah, and me.
Hang on. Maybe, just maybe, there's someone
who can get us out of this mess.
- Where are we going?
- Idlewild Airport, July '65.
(WHOOSH)
This is right, he's being escorted to Hoover Open Prison
in New York. Give me five minutes.
(WHOOSH)
Don't be alarmed, sir,
but I have a very strange tale to tell.
I, ah, have had plenty of time
to reflect on my days in the White House.
In all important respects,
I believe I did a good job.
It was right to plan a pull-out of Vietnam,
to fight for civil rights,
and, ah, to fight Congress, ah, to put a man on the Moon.
It was, ah, wrong, however, to, ah, act like an
irresponsible jackass with all those women
and allow my enemies
to wreak havoc on our nation.
But I can help, man...
I mean, Mr President, man... I mean, sir.
And how er, can you help?
Well, come with us back to Dallas,
November 1963, Be a second gunman.
The gunman behind the grassy knoll.
You mean... assassinate myself?
Yeah. It'll drive the conspiracy nuts crazy,
but they'll never figure it out.
But I still have a future here.
Jackie left me, but, ah, when I get out,
I can, ah, still make a contribution to the world.
See this airport? Idlewild Airport?
In our reality, they renamed it JFK after you.
Where I come from, you're a liberal
icon, and that's the person you should be.
But if you're gonna be that person,
you gonna have to sacrifice your life.
And only then will my reputation
be restored in history?
Mmm. And I can get a smeggin' curry.
Ask not what your country can do for you...
ask what you can do for your country.
- Hey, that'd make a pretty neat speech, that!
- It did.
I, ah... thank you all for giving me
the opportunity to, ah... be reborn.
Smeg!
I forgot to ask if there are
any curry houses in Dallas!
(CAT WHISTLES NONCHALANTLY)
Aaargh!
Right, Krytie. Same drill.
You measure the output voltage.
I'll note the reading.
Just give me a second to get in position.
Right. In your own time.
Well?
350 volts, sir. Same as the others.
Not that one, then.
Still, we're narrowing it down.
- Just 17 more to go.
- Sir, might I suggest that we use an actual volt meter,
as opposed to, well... using me?
Oooh! Too good to be a
volt meter now, are we?
I dunno, one morning spent
poncing around without your guilt chip
and suddenly you think
you're some hoity-toity robo-god
instead of the lashed-together
Meccano gimboid that you are.
Oh, if you want me to be a volt meter
I'm only too happy to be of service.
Why, if you asked me to remove my
head and turn it into a chemical toilet,
complete with working
flush, I'd be equally honoured.
It's just that firing my eyes out of my head at the speed
of sound does invalidate my Divadroid service guarantee.
I would hate to malfunction
and you not get a full refund.
I mean, wouldn't that be so annoying?
I am a total twonk.
How could I be such a saliva-dribbling,
moronic, brain frozen, putzy little smegger?
It's good that book
on self-enlightenment, isn't it?
The curry supplies. There was no debris.
Don't you get it? No little bits of floating
crate? They weren't destroyed in the flood.
Well, what happened to them, then?
I took 'em. At some point in the future,
I must go back to the past
and bring all the curry supplies
to the present. Capisce?
Of course! Oh, it's so simple, even a half
concussed gym teacher could understand it.
This is the last jaunt... I promise.
No, absolutely not. As senior technician on this ship,
I forbid it, d'you hear me? I absolutely forbid it.
(WHOOSHING)
What is the point of me being his superior officer
if he never obeys a single command?
You know, he hasn't even got the good manners to let
me court-martial him. Not even when I ask him nicely.
- We might as well have a melon in command.
- I thought we had, sir.
Oh, I see. Sorry, sir.
The voltage must have corrupted
my comprehension unit.
Stand back!
It sounds like something's coming in.
(WHOOSHING)
Yes! This thing is amazing.
If only we could use it to get back to Earth our time.
Sir, you saw the havoc we caused in Dallas
in the first two seconds of our arrival.
Heaven knows what we'd reduce civilisation
to if we lived in the past permanently.
He's right. We don't want anymore idiotic gaffs
until... Think we could make it to half four?
You know, I must have passed this thing
a million times. What the hell's it for?
Oh! Nice going on the idiotic gaffs front, sir.
We almost lasted a full five seconds, there.
Kryten, surely you're not implying that was
accidental? I've had that ace up my sleeve for months.
They're not coming back.
I'm lost in deep space,
over three million years from home.
No life, no bird, no nothin'.
Just me and three and a half tons of curry.
Fan-smeggin'-tastic!
# 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 #
