Smega-Drive
by Ganymede & Titan
Series VIII - Cassandra - All scenes
("RED DWARF" THEME)
Have you figured out a way
to get us out of here yet, Hol?
I have, actually, Dave. I've devoted all my run-time
to looking for a loophole in the prison regs,
and I think I've come up with something which means you
can serve your entire two-year sentence
in just 14 weeks.
Oh, brilliant! What have I got to do?
Become a dog.
- A dog?
- According to my data banks,
dog years are seven times shorter
than human years.
As a plan you can't fault it on its mathematics.
No, but maybe you can fault
it on the fact I'm not a dog.
Yeah, but according to a 20th-century newspaper
called "The National Enquirer",
the operation's quite straightforward,
A roverostomy, they call it.
Here's a photograph here
of a bloke who had it done.
That's a dog!
See how convincing it is?
Even you're fooled.
Become a dog. That is without doubt the stupidest,
crappiest, most pathetic plan you've come up with all week.
Give me a chance - it's only Monday.
(BEEP)
What happened to my life -
career, prospects, friends?
I had everything and I threw it all away. It's a tragedy.
What are you on about? You had none of that stuff.
You're right. I had none of that stuff.
I had absolutely nothing and I threw it all away.
It's an even bigger tragedy.
Look, We're only going to get through this
by being positive, by being...
What's that word women tennis players always
used to reckon was so important - begins with C?
Cunnilingus?
Centred. By being centred, focused.
It's only two years. What with good behaviour, it'll probably be 18 months.
Remember when you were first born,
and then you were 18 months?
The time just flashed past.
it flashed past 'cause you had two breasts big as
your head at your beck and call day and night.
Give me that now, and I wouldn't be whinging.
- What's this?
- Canary outfits and first meeting information.
I volunteered for the Canaries.
- Some bloke came round the machine shop, so I signed up.
- For the Canaries?
Yeah. Bit of close-part harmony. You should see
the list of privileges you get. Unbelievable.
- You don't know what the Canaries are do you?
- Yeah, course I do. It's a singing troop. A cappella.
# You are the sunshine of my life
# Ooh
# That's why I'll always be around... #
They're nothing to do with singing, are they?
Holly lied to me, didn't he?
He was taking the smeg!
Oh, Listy.
Listy, Listy, Listy.
Well, go on, then. What have I signed up for?
In the 19th century, when miners went down
a pit, they'd lower a canary down first in a little cage.
What, and make them do some mining?
They were sick
in the 19th century, weren't they, eh?
I mean, how much coal can a little canary get?
And if the atmosphere was noxious, as it
frequently was... guess what the canary did?
Complained to the foreman?
It died, Listy.
The canary's job was to go into the most
dangerous, unpleasant and smeggy situations,
and see if it could stay alive, then they'd know
if it was safe to send in the important people.
- Oh, I'm gonna kill him!
- How come you've never heard of the Canaries?
They've got recruitment posters all over the men's bogs.
How come you've not seen them?
When I'm in the men's toilets in prison, Rimmer, I
tend not to look around, d'you know what I'm saying?
It's like playing golf. I
concentrate on me grip,
keep me eye on the ball, and
try not to veer off to the side.
The Canaries. Do you know what they say it's supposed to stand for?
"Convict Army Nearly All Retarded
Inbred Evil Sheepshaggers."
(LAUGHS) They haven't got an X-Chromosome
to share between them!
Smeg!
- It gets worse as well.
- Ha-ha! Worse? Go on.
I signed you up, too.
I forged your signature.
I thought I was doing you a favour.
- Me? Why?
- I've signed us all up.
- Kryten, Kris. Everyone.
- No way.
No way. No way am I becoming a Canary.
It's a great honour for Floor 13,
for today we are visited by Captain Hollister,
who has a special assignment.
At last some action!
I've been going mental. All this time,
cooped up, not killing nothing. Yes!
Kill Crazy, shut up, you punk!
OK. Listen up.
We've located a ship, the SSS Silverbird,
buried at the bottom of an ocean moon.
Remote probe has come back
with no signs of a crew.
No bodily remains, no skeletons - zip.
We want you guys to go onboard
and find out why.
A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four.
# You are the sunshine of my life
# Ooh
# That's why I'll always be around #
Rimmer!
Sorry, sir. We appear to have wandered into the wrong
hobby group. We'll leave immediately. Go!
Rimmer! You're here and this is where you're staying. Now get on with it.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You heard what the warden said.
He wants you to get on with it. From the top.
# You are the sunshine of my life... #
Rimmer!
Sorry, sir. When you said "get on with it" I thought you meant...
Shut up! You're a Canary, man! A member of the toughest
combat army this side of Pluto.
I've seen custard factories that
aren't as yellow as you are!
- Start behaving like a man.
- A man, sir.
Yes, of course, sir. A man.
A man? Perhaps if you could just remind me, sir
I'm sure it will all come back.
(CRUNCHING)
Continue, Captain.
(RATTLING)
It's inconceivable a ship like this could have be sent out without a crew,
so whatever devoured the crew, bones and all,
might still be there,
so be careful.
Let's go kill something!
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!
I hope it's got like big teeth and claws
and like loads of heads. Yeah, great!
Here we go! At last! Yeah!
(CLANG)
OK. Stay together. Keep 'em peeled.
What's that?
What? Where?
It's moving, shaking from
side to side like a leaf.
I think that's your shadow, sir.
Located the mainframe.
Maybe it can tell us something.
Good evening, Arnold. I've been looking
forward to your arrival so very much.
- How do you know my name?
- My name is Cassandra.
I am a computer with the ability
to predict the future
with an accuracy rating of 100 per cent.
Bless you.
Bless you? What do you mean 'bless you'? No-
A-choo!
You need a tissue. Kris has one in her left hand pocket. She says,
"Would you like this?" You say, "Thanks."
- Would you like this?
- Thanks.
- "Extraordinary!"
- Extraordinary!
"The questions we can ask!
It can tell us our future."
The questions we can ask!
It can tell us our future.
"But, how does it work?
The future's not happened yet."
I wasn't going to say that.
I never said you would...
But how does it work?
The future's not happened yet.
..although you do.
Smeg!
Let's ask her a question about the future.
A biggie.
OK, Cassandra, do we ever get back to Earth?
Has the human race survived?
Do I ever find my singing tie pin?
Do we want to know all this stuff about the future?
Do we want to know for example, how and when we die?
Kris is right. Something like that could mess
your life up for ever. Cassandra, I have a question.
I know, Arnold because I know
the rest of this conversation.
So what's the answer?
He chokes to death aged 181
trying to remove a bra with his teeth.
What was the question?
I just asked how you died.
You what? I didn't wanna know that!
- Whose bra?
- 181?
Probably your own.
Come on, though. Taking a bra off with me teeth
at 181, That's a hell of a sexy way to go!
So long as the teeth are in your mouth
at the time, sir.
I'm really screwed up now. I never wanted
to know that - know how I die.
It's completely spoilt the surprise!
Kryten, this is where you share your theory
with your crewmates.
I have a theory everyone. The Silverbird didn't crash,
did it, Cassandra?
The ship was sent here by the Space Corps
on autopilot to get rid of you -
to abandon you at the bottom
of a lunar sea in the depths of deep space.
That's brilliant, bud! How did you work that out?
I read it on this mission directive here.
So, there was no dead bodies on board
because the ship didn't have a crew.
A computer that unerringly predicts the future...
- ..is a dangerous thing indeed.
- is a dangerous... er... yes, precisely.
We, erm... should be making tracks.
I'm afraid that's not going to happen.
The bulkhead's just given way
and we're shipping water
at 1000 gallons a second.
All the Canaries will be dead within one hour
- except for Rimmer...
- Yes!
..who will be dead in 20 minutes.
Only Lister, Kryten, the Cat
and Kochanski survive.
What happens to Rimmer?
He has a heart attack, brought on
by the stress of knowing he's going to die
and collapses during a conversation with me
in 19 minutes and 31 seconds.
I don't believe you. I simply don't believe you.
We shall see, or rather, YOU shall see.
I have already seen.
All the hairs on the back of my neck
are standing on end.
Mine, too, and not just the ones
on the back of my neck - it's one up, all up.
Well, it's not the first time we've been
in a situation like this, is it?
Hell, no. We've drunk coffee thousands of times.
We're veterans.
Future echoes, remember?
- Future echoes - all right!
- What was that?
We learned that if the future's already decided,
you can't change it.
Yeah, but what do you know?
You're a chicken-soup machine repairman,
not Hank Handsome, Space Adventurer.
Don't get ideas above your station,
and your station is Git Central.
Hey, I've been surviving in space five, six years.
When it comes to weirdy, paradoxy space stuff,
I bought the T-shirt.
He bought it and I ironed it for him.
- Exactly.
- So, you're saying the future's the future,
and, like your underpants,
the chances of change are remote.
Well, I'm sorry. I don't accept it.
- Hey, I'm not happy about it, man.
- None of us are.
You dying is the last thing we want, bud,
especially me.
Hell, I'll probably have to help dig the hole.
Right, so to summarise: six years of space adventuring,
six years of experience and knowledge
have led you to the conclusion
that I'm totally stuffed.
Mr Rimmer has a point, sir. Your greater
knowledge is making you pessimistic, while his
ignorance and almost doe-like naivety is keeping
his mind receptive to a possible solution.
Shut your stupid flat head, you.
So you're saying when you don't know enough
to know that you don't know enough,
there's no fear holding you back - you can achieve
things which people with more brains can't.
- Precisely.
- He's got the power of ignorance.
With the ignorance he's got, that makes him
one of the most powerful men that's ever lived.
Harness your stupidity, sir.
Employ your witlessness.
Use your empty-headed simplistic
moron mind and find a solution.
OK. I've got an idea.
Kryten, replay our meeting with Cassandra in your CPU,
and tell me if at any point,
anyone ever called me Rimmer.
- What?
- (BEEPING)
At no point throughout the meeting
did anyone refer to you as Rimmer.
In fact, we barely looked at you.
That's just what I thought.
Cassandra said, "Rimmer dies," but it doesn't
necessarily follow that that means me.
- Who does it mean, then, your dad?
- Look, Cassandra doesn't know the future.
She sees pictures of it.
She could have seen another guy die of a heart
attack. Someone she's been told is *called* Rimmer.
- He's right.
- All I've got to do
is to find someone I can
introduce to Cassandra as Rimmer,
and it will be them that stiffs out and not me.
Such lowlife conniving -
it's impossible not to be impressed!
What I wouldn't give
to have your weasel gene, sir!
- Now, wait a minute.
- Oh, look, here's Mr Knot.
- You made this area secure?
- Yes, sir. Mr Knot, sir. Coffee, sir?
I've been asked by the Captain to inspect a mainframe. Where is it?
Agh! You idiot!
What the hell do you think you're doing?
Please...
Have my jacket. I insist.
Then I shall lead you to Cassandra.
There we are, sir.
A perfect fit, sir.
- Lead the way, Rimmer.
- Don't call me Rimmer!
- That's your name.
- Yes, But 'Rimmer'... its so full of nobility
and quiet courage.
Call me Arsewipe or Fishbreath.
Not Rimmer, sir. Never Rimmer, sir.
OK, Arsewipe, whatever you say.
Now, where's the mainframe?