by Ganymede & Titan

Series XI - Twentica - All scenes



Gentlemen, crack open a fresh pack
of rubber pantaloons, we have problem.

We're picking up ship
heading straight for us

in an unmapped region of deep space.


Here in Region Uncharted,
Sector No Name, Quadrant Nameless.

Message incoming.

(ON MONITOR) I am seeking
JMC Second Technician

Arnold Judas Rimmer.

Keep it zipped. Say nothing.
Sound-wise, we're going commando people.

That's him there!

I cracked. Sorry, guys!

I tried to stay strong, but he broke me!

Second Technician Rimmer,

I understand you have a crew man
who falls under your jurisdiction.

A 'David Lister'.

Right there, bud!

Sorry, guys, he...
He broke me again!

What do you expect?
I'm not made of concrete!

I am Combat Droid Four of Batch 27.

We wish to conduct a transaction
of goods with you.

But you're simulants.
You despise humans.

Why would you wanna trade with us?

You have something we want
and we have something you want.

- What?
- A hostage

taken from human transport ship.

Allow me to show you.

We cannot negotiate with simulants.

We cannot cave in
to their insane demands.

Under no circumstances are JMC personnel
permitted to negotiate with the enemy.

Guys, it's me! They've taken me hostage.

You've gotta help me!

Of course, that's what the JMC think,

but who the hell listens
to those pen pushers?

Here are our demands.

One second. We need a moment.


What's going on here?

Is that me? How can it be me, I'm here?

There are a number of options, sir.

All involving you and all extremely bad.

I'm all ears!

Perhaps that person we saw
is a different version

of Mr Rimmer
from an alternative dimension.

So, if he dies,
not the end of the world?

Or perhaps he's a clone of Mr Rimmer

produced somehow from his DNA.

Again, if he dies,
not the end of the world.

Or perhaps that man is you, sir,

a you seized from the future
and taken back into the past.

Again, if he dies,
not the end of the world.

We've no choice,
we're gonna have to negotiate.

- But we never negotiate with the enemy.
- Until today.

Well, if that's the way they're gonna
roll, let me handle negotiations.

You think I'm gonna leave the life
of a possible future me in your hands?

I've seen movies, Rimmer.
I know how to talk to hostage takers.

I've done
JMC crisis negotiation, Lister.

I'm handling this.
Now, get me a pad and open comms.

Okay, Arn, we're working on the pad.

But in return, I'm gonna need
something from you.

Wait a minute.

Are you just using your hostage
negotiation techniques on me?

Just get me a damn pad!

Okay, Arnold, we're working on the pad,
but you gotta realise

I can't pull a pad
out my ass in five minutes.

I've gotta talk to my boss.
They've gotta talk to their boss.

They've gotta talk to the DA.


Here are my demands.

In return for the whiny
human hologram man,

you will give us the Casket of Cronos,

which you salvaged from our abandoned
attack ship the AS Thanatos.

The Casket of what? What's that?

It contains the essence of 23 of 27.

I remember this.

It's upstairs in the rec room
underneath the pool table.

- For safe keeping?
- Nah, to keep the table level.

Go and get it!

Oh, man!

Now the pool table's gonna be
all bent and wibbly again!

You have the Casket of Cronos?

How do we know you won't betray us?

I am 4 of 27.
I am a warrior and high born.

Who do you think I am? Three of 63?

Three of 63? You're nothing like him.

Then, we trade.



Now, what about the hostage?


Wait. I'm being taken hostage...

I'm back! Thank god!

I was their hostage. I didn't think
you were ever gonna save me.

I was kinda hoping we weren't!

You were only gone two seconds.

Two seconds for you,
but for me it was hours.

I overheard what they were saying.

That Cronos casket didn't contain
the spirit of anyone.

It was an amplifier they needed
to plug into their temporal transporter

to expand the beam.

- What?
- They're Expanoids.

What the hell are Expanoids?

Droids capable of doubling
their transistor power every two years.

They progress so rapidly,

they became threat
to every living entity in the universe.

What are they planning?

To travel back into the past
to change the present.

That's a bit old hat, isn't it?

How many times have we seen that before?

Expanoids are unemotional,
cold-hearted psychopaths.

They will have no hesitation

using hackneyed old clich├ęs
if it suits their purpose.

If they've gone back into the past
to screw around with human evolution,

how come I'm still here?

Maybe you didn't qualify?


Look at the scanner.

They're accelerating.
Preparing to time jump.

We need to get after them,
stop whatever they're doing

and get that Cronos machine back.

So, we can utilise
its time travel abilities ourselves?

No, so we can prop
the pool table back up.

We haven't got a second to lose.
If we hurry we can time surf

on their slipstream.

- Planet up ahead.

I'm detecting some kind
of electron wavelet.

Approaching at speed.


We've lost navigation.

- And steering!
- And monitors!


I think what he was
about to say was we're both...

All the electrics are down!
What the hell's happening?

We're crashing, that's
what the hell's happening.

Now, brace!

Do you think this is a good time
to make a crack about my teeth?




- Argh!
- Argh!






Kryten could be more fried if he was
Mars bar living in Scotland.

- Rimmer is out too.
- Every cloud!

What the hell happened?

We got hit by some
sort of electromagnetic pulse weapon.

It's taken out the grid and drained
everything connected to it.

We need to reboot
using the auxiliary drives.


- Jump leads attached.

I always forget which one's positive
and which one's negative.

Don't get 'em mixed up, bud!

Or he'll wind up with nipples

that look like two
barbequed-flavoured Nik Naks.

- Here's goes nothing.

Okay, start her up.



Sir, what happened?

Kryten, stand up and walk up and down
really fast to recharge your dynamo.

Get going! And don't stop
till you're fully charged.

Close hatches.
So embarrassing.

- What happened?
- I think we got hit

by one of those PMTs.

And where are the Expanoids?

There's no sign of their ship
and there's no sign of them.

Kryt, any theories?

Well, according to the monitor,
they too landed here,

but due to the curvature of space time,

several years have elapsed
in the time it took us to get here.

We've gotta find them
and get that Cronos machine!


Well, the vibrations in the lithosphere
tells us there's some kind of township

not far from here.

CAT: Are we there yet?
KRYTEN: Not far now, sirs.

Real people?

I'm gonna be seeing real people again.

Gas street lighting. Steam-powered
right-hand drive motor vehicles.

Technology-wise this time period doesn't
correlate with anything in my database.

Any theories, Kryts?

Mmm, not at this juncture, sir.

Why do you always ask him
if he's got any theories?

I'm acting stand-in, commanding,
senior, premier officer.

Why do you never ask me?

Maybe I've got a theory?

Maybe I've got a really great theory.

But you're always too busy asking him

to find out how great
my theory really is.

- Okay, any theories, Rimmer?
- No!

- It's the principle.
- Look at that.

(READING) "Closed for violation
of the Prohibition Act."

Prohibition, that was the 1920s.

Yeah, when alcohol was banned
and the bootleggers took over.

Dark days.

Society run by a bunch of hoodlum
gangsters, dark days indeed.

I was thinking more about the booze ban.

Whatever they prohibited
around here, it ain't booze.

Look at that!

Well, if it's not booze they prohibited,
what is it?

According to this leaflet,
the year is 1952,

nearly two decades
after prohibition ended.

- Hey! What's going on?

MAN: Get 'em!
WOMAN: Hey, don't move.

Well, lookie here, illegal contraband.

If that's the penalty for toast,
what the hell do you get for pizza?

It's not the toast that's illegal, sir.
It's the technology.

That's why that electron wavelet
shut down Starbug.

Any technology beyond the 1920s
is illegal 'round here.

Unless, of course, you're an Expanoid.

The Expanoid's haven't travelled
into the past to change the present.

They travelled into the past
to enslave humanity.

- It's contraband.
- By doing what?

By travelling to a point in history
where we haven't got the technology

to defeat them or defend ourselves.

And they plan for it to stay that way.
Hence the tech ban.

A tech ban which means
you, sir, are illegal.

He is?

I may move here.
Lay down roots and start a family.

He's not the only one who's illegal.
So am I!

You know the penalty.

Looks like they're gonna
shoot them! Hey!

Move! Get outta here!


WOMAN: Don't move! Get 'em!

Argh. (COUGHS)


- Is he dead?
- He's moaning.

Can you blame him?
He's just been shot!

Did you see what happened?

Yeah, we saw. We'll get you a doctor.

(BREATHLESSLY) No, It's too late.
I ain't gonna make it. Here.

Pizza delivery. You want a pizza now?

Oh, wrong pocket! Argh!

The Lady Be Good Club.

Here. Ask for Harmony De Gaultier.

And give her this.


What is it?

It appears to be
some kind of machine part, sir.


We've gotta get
to this Lady Be Good Club.

Uh, dressed like this?
We gotta get some clothes!


Have you done this before?

It was the only way
to get home sometimes,

when I lost all me money
playing Texas Hold'em.

I know it was wrong.
I was young, I was stupid.

But what do you really know
when you're seven?

Stealing cars at the age of seven?
Why didn't you take the bus?

Hotwire a bus? I was seven!

I just wasn't up to it.

- Catching the bus.

What's wrong with catching
the bus home from school?

Who mentioned school?
I was off shoplifting.

Don't look at me like that.

I've been on the straight and narrow
since I was nine.

Or ten. All right, eleven.

This must be it.

There's no buzzer.

Tech cap.

Allow me, sirs. I'm well versed in
the ancient human signalling technique

that was all the rage
before electro-magnetism was discovered

and the electric buzzer took off.

Now, if memory serves...


We're out.

I'll handle this.

Americans love the English accent.
So, that rules out Lister.

They're particularly impressed by people
who say "whom" a lot.


I bid you good evening, stout fellow.

My companions whom stand before you

require information
about a personage to whom I understand

frequents your establishment

and who goes by the name
Harmony De Gaultier.

Are whom acquainted with said lady?

You been drinking the giggle water.

If you ain't members, beat it.


Listen, buddy.

You know who you got standing out here,

nuts so cold you can
serve him up in a Martini cocktail?

Lucky "No Middle Name" Listerano.

Ain't you got no lugs? I said blow!

Wait, Listerano.

He ain't related
to the scientist Joseph Lister, is he?

Uncle Joe! Course I am.


Right down the stairs.
First on the left.


What is this place?

It appears to be some sort
of illicit science club.

A place where bootleg professors

and astrophysicists
get together to create illegal tech

and discuss outlawed
scientific theories.

You boys want company?

We're looking for a Harmony De Gaultier.

Hey, Har, there's a bunny
here who wants to get acquainted.

So, uh, you wanna grab a drink first

or you wanna go somewhere quiet
and discuss relativity?

For an extra 10 bucks, I'll do both,
general and special.

No, that's... That's not why I'm here.

You into electrons?
Is that what pings your microwave?

You wanna watch me do
the double slit test?

And experience the probabilistic nature
of quantum mechanics?


No. Every guy likes particles
that turn into waves, right?