(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)
Oh, Inga.
Inga.
Bud, wake up.
- Huh?
- Who's Inga?
Oh, just someone I met at a party
thrown by a giraffe called Gerald.
She wanted me to fly with her to Paris,
but she had a wooden head
and was afraid of forks.
There's no future in it.
According to Freud's
lexicon of dream symbols,
flying is supposed to be
a metaphor for sex.
Absolute poppycock,
I dream of flying all the time.
It's certainly nothing to do with sex.
It's always the same dream.
I'm in a Boeing 727
and it can't take off.
I'm sitting there with
a tiny bag of nuts I can't get open,
then, suddenly, after one giant tug,
and much to my embarrassment,
the whole bag explodes
over premium economy.
Now tell me, because I don't see it,
how on earth is that
anything to do with sex?
(MACHINE BUZZES)
Sirs, I'm picking up something from
the other side of that asteroid field.
It's a deep space explorer ship
and it's in big trouble.
(MACHINE BEEPING)
(PRINTER WHIRRING)
(WHIRRING)
(STALLING)
- Getting anything?
- The signal's weak.
The magnetite in the asteroids
is distorting everything
in the local vicinity.
Try dropping frequencies,
see if we can circumnavigate the storm.
"Try dropping frequencies.
See if we can circumnavigate the storm"?
What are you talking about?
Oh, it worked, sir.
Good call.
Ident details coming in.
It's a space called
deep space scout ship,
gravity antimatter propulsion engines,
state-of-the-art tech.
It's even got one of those big captainy
chairs with the flip across picnic tray.
I'd kill for one of those.
You can captain your way
through a space battle
and have a TV dinner at the same time.
- Crew?
- Coming through now, sir.
According to their manifest,
the crew total is half.
- Half what?
- I don't know, sir.
(BEEPING)
(THUMPING)
(PRINTER WHIRRING)
Hey, now it's saying
the total crew is one.
What the hell is going on?
Ah, best guess,
the Nautilus is bio-printing its crew,
which was fashionable
in the 24th century
where unmanned ships
were sent into space
and only after they encountered
a point of interest, need or danger
were the crew best suited
for the mission
printed from the bio-library.
These dudes are gonna be human, right?
Human-like, they're created
from synthetic stem cells,
but like many movie stars,
they'll be incapable of
having children in the normal way.
Also, their lifespan will only last
the length of their mission,
in this case, save the Nautilus.
Okay, okay,
we've got pictures coming through.
(STATIC)
This is Captain Edwin Herring of
the SS Nautilus. Can you read me? Over.
Copy Nautilus, but there's
something wrong with our video feed.
From our end you look like
a hideous 19th-century circus freak.
Bud, you look like you're wearing
a toupee made of face.
Yeah, one look at you
and even the Elephant Man
would wanna jump
in his mum and dad's bed.
Our bio-printer jammed, it's faulty.
My face has been printed
on the top of my head. Any advice?
Yeah, don't wear a hat.
What's my situation,
obviously, it's difficult to see.
It appears, sir,
your engines are burnt out
and you're drifting into the heart
of a class C asteroid storm.
I'm carrying varenium.
If the storm penetrates my hull,
I'm done for, and so is everything
in the local vicinity. Can you help?
Our two ships are separated
by the asteroid storm,
we'll never get 'round it in time.
- Are you sure?
- Of course we're sure.
It's as plain as the nose on your head.
What about your escape pods?
Maybe use one of those.
Too late, they've escaped.
That's what happens when you give
machines artificial intelligence,
they just look after number one.
Perhaps you should print some more
of your crew, sir. Get assistance.
I've just told you,
my bio-printer's faulty, you cretin.
My visuals are...
What's your name, crewman?
Dave Lister, sir.
- Don't speak again, Lister, understand?
- Yes, Sir.
- I'm done for, aren't I?
- (BEEPING)
Sirs, intel coming in,
it's much as I feared.
The nearer the Nautilus gets to us,
the more we, ourselves, are in danger.
How do you make that one out?
If the Nautilus is destroyed
in its present position we're safe,
but when the Nautilus enters
the asteroid storm...
The varenium goes up
and the blast radius nukes us too.
We've only got one option.
(BEEPING)
You just launched
a mining torpedo at him.
- It's too late to intercept.
- Rimmer, what have you done?
I've just save all our necks,
that's what I've done,
it was the only option.
Impact, one minute and counting.
You've gotta tell him, you've gotta tell
Herring what you've done.
What, tell him I've just nuked his ship,
I'm not telling him that.
- Why not?
- He won't like me.
I've been hit! I'm spinning out!
That was the most insanely brilliant,
ballsiest tactical manoeuvre
I've ever witnessed.
Who fired that missile?
Me, sir, Arnold J Rimmer.
You mean you took off my wing,
knowing it would knock me out
of the asteroid storm?
That's genius, Rimmer.
They don't call me
Old Iron Balls for nothing, sir.
I owe you my life, man.
What's your rank?
Second tech, sir.
Not any longer.
I'm promoting you to Officer, Rimmer.
I'll send the authorisation through now.
I look forward to meeting you.
We'll head back to Red Dwarf sir,
and then pick you up.
Officer Rimmer.
After all these years. Oh, yes.
You are genuine, pedigree,
thoroughbred scum, aren't you, Rimmer?
That's Officer Rimmer to you,
Private Nothing.
To do, ramscoop MOT.
We're just eight hours
from Captain Herring's ship, sir,
I also have the paperwork
confirming your promotion.
According to protocol 712,
there'll need to be an accolade
so that you can be officially accredited
as an officer.
Mmm, a simple affair, Kryten,
I don't want anything too special.
We'll have it in the Hall of Heroes.
Champagne, canapés,
maybe a very quick six-gun salute,
let's not get carried away.
Then, perhaps, a short tribute to me,
no more than an hour,
and then I'll outline my plans
to open a new Officers Club on D deck.
A new Officers Club, sir?
(EXHALES)
Somewhere with an atmosphere
of understated luxury
where officers can unwind
in their precious hours
away from the grind of command.
Oh, so, basically, sir,
you're instigating a class system.
The haves, me, the have-nots, you lot.
One question, sir.
The fact that you've been
awarded officer-hood
by an act of gross deception,
does that in any way
take the sheen off it?
Not really, no.
It's about getting there, Kryten,
not how you get there.
I made love to a beautiful woman
in her apartment last night,
that's important.
How did you get there? Bike or bus?
Not important.
Zero G Sports, where is it?
We were up to match day four,
where's it gone?
Zero G Sports
is an officer-only channel.
Has Rimmer been smegging around
with our TV package?
We've only got the lame stations.
The 24-hour knitting channel.
The hat channel?
Amish MTV?
We haven't got
the totally unnecessarily massive,
repeat sports package any more.
Look at this.
ANNOUNCER ON TV: Tonight at 7:00,
premier league croquet.
Eastbourne Ladies versus
Gloucestershire Girls.
It's a grudge match.
Gosh.
It's not too bad. Hot dog?
Attention, attention,
Officer Rimmer here.
We'll shortly be approaching SS Nautilus
to welcome Captain Herring.
Would all lower orders
please make their way to B deck?
What the smeg's this?
Why is the old service lift
been turned into the grunts Lift?
So the rank and file can travel
between floors with their own kind.
Meantime, you use the officer's lift,
which we can't use on account
of the fact that we're not "officery".
It's one of the privileges of rank,
Third Technician.
(BEEPING)
Gentlemen,
I bid you a temporary farewell.
(LIFT DINGS)
- Hot towel for you, sir.
- Ah, thank you.
KRYTEN: Facial mist for you, sir.
Lovely.
Complimentary executive beverage
for you, sir.
Most kind.
(LIFT DOOR BEEPS)
That'll be all. Run along.
(DOOR CREAKING)
GRUNT LIFT: Floor?
Floor? I said floor.
- Landing bay, please.
- What?
Landing bay.
Okay, keep your hair on.
I'm not deaf. am I?
Has he interfered with the lift somehow,
made it ruder?
OFFICER LIFT:
Have a wonderful onward journey
and we look forward to going down
with you again soon.
Ah, enchanting.
Oh, how hot was that Lift?
My diodes are almost cooked.
And look at my hair,
I've lost volume, height, bounce.
No way am I putting up with this.
A problem, Private Zero?
Rimmer, if you think for one minute...
"Officer's Corridor"? What's this?
He's had the skutters refurb
the old tube tunnel.
See you at the end of the corridor.
Bon voyage.
This corridor's got the best
of everything, air con, music.
Look, he doesn't even have to walk.
(WHISTLE BLOWING)
Welcome aboard, Captain Herring.
That's a hell of a ceiling
you've got, Rimmer.
The latticework's stunning.
You're most kind, sir.
Not massively important,
but this is our crew.
- Cat.
- Kryten.
- Uh-huh.
And Third Technician Lister.
Ah, is this Lister?
(CHUCKLES) I can tell he's no good
just by feeling him.
I'm on to you, Lister,
don't think I'm not.
Which reminds me, Rimmer,
I might've been a bit hasty
promoting you to officer.
I should've promoted you
to First Lieutenant and now I have.
Congratulations.
(MOANS)
Thank you so much, sir.
What's the situation with
the Nautilus, Flight Lieutenant?
Oh, that's me. The skutters
are unloading your cargo, sir.
The ship's done for, I'm afraid.
Well, the cargo's safe, at least,
that means my mission's up.
How are we gonna get him demoted now?
How indeed?
MMmm.
Yes, elegant, stylish.
This'll suit me and my fellow officers
down to the ground, Kryten.
How are you coming along
with the bio-printer?
- Ah, I've repaired it, sir.
- So soon? How?
I gave it a good kicking.
I thought you didn't believe
in hitting machines.
Oh, photocopiers and printers
are an exception, sir.
We're just waiting for it to calibrate.
Good and then we can start to bio-print
the Nautilus' crew?
- Indeed.
- Excellent.
I want to print out all those
who ranked below me,
regardless of job or profession.
Shouldn't we speak to Mr Lister, sir?
Kryten, bio-printing
is an officer-only privilege.
Decisions of this magnitude
can't be left to a lowly technician.
Sir, are you familiar with
the Abraham Lincoln quotation on power?
Lincoln, the President?
- He got assassinated at the theatre.
- Indeed.
I've never been a fan
of the theatre, Kryten.
My mother used to take me,
and some of the most excruciating hours
of my life have been spent there.
Sometimes, the greater tragedy is going
to the theatre and not getting shot.
You were saying?
Lincoln once said, "If you want to test
a man's character, give him power."
And Officer Rimmer once said,
"If you want to feel my boot up
your recharge socket, keep talking."
So we can print out any of these people?
Yeah.
What about her?
A fitness ball lady
in tight Lycra shorts?
She can't demote anybody.
So what if she can't?
I can see past that.
Sirs.
No, wait, wait, wait, wait,
go back, go back, go back.
That's you.
That's me. How's that me?
Your genome was
in the Nautilus' database?
What? How?
Ah.
Ah...
I think I might've flogged it.
You flogged your genome?
Yeah, I was a kid and my mate, Dodgy,
offered me $£100
and half a packet of fags for it.
All I had to do was
put some saliva on a stick.
You sold the rights to your unique
haploid set of chromosomes, sir?
You traded away the map categorising
every detail of your genetic make-up
for $£100
and half a packet of fags?
You think he should've held out
for a whole pack?
Sir, this means someone else holds
the copyright to you.
You don't own yourself.
What? Like every time I take a leak
I'm handling stolen goods?
Look, we're three millions years
into the big black.
No one's coming out here. Who cares?
- Exactly. We're cool.
- Cool.
Sir, I don't think you appreciate
what you've done.
Thousands of different companies have
taken out a licence to produce yous.
You're like writing software
that people can buy
and then use as they like.
- What and do what they want with?
- Mmm, here's one.
Licence, 10 years, 3,000 Listers,
Sandex Communication Listers
to be used in call centres.
Do you mean all those smart-arse
Scousers in call centres are me?
I've had those Johnnys,
they're a pain in the backside.
They know nothing and they sound like
they don't wanna be there.
They don't, sir, they're you.
What have you done, bud?
So Rimmer is gonna use this machine
to produce people who will obey him.
Never being born has gotta be better
than a life like that.
We've gotta wipe the database, Kryten.
Delete it all right now.
I can't, sir, I have to print out
a new crew as instructed.
Now Mr Rimmer's a Flight Lieutenant,
I can't refuse his orders.
Well, I'll do it,
just tell me what to do.
Sir, if you think I am going
to select all these files,
and then take my leave, taking my leave,
so you can press that button there,
you've got another thing coming.
The entire database has deleted itself?
Check bio-printer, this is
going down in my daily to-do list.
- How?
- It's a mystery, sir.
I bet Lister's behind this.
Isn't it possible to print anyone?
I need a crew to command.
Well, in theory it is possible
to insert a piece of DNA
into the bio-printer
and have it produce a genome.
But who would we print?
My mind's on file in the holo-suite
and my DNA's on all my old belongings.
With the remaining bio-ink
we could produce 50 versions of me,
make them all officers
so as Flight Lieutenant, I am over them,
and then we can have Officers Club
crammed full of Rimmers.
Sir, history tells us that you and you
is a very bad mix.
You and 50 yous is beyond horrific.
Not if I'm their Commanding Officer,
then they'll do what I want.
Move the bio-printer to one
of the junk rooms and double security.
Things are about to get
a whole lot more Rimmery.
(PRINTER WHIRRING)
You what? Officers' Club?
RIMMER CLONES: Evening.
- Where'd they come from?
- He's bio-printing Rimmers.
We gotta kill that damn machine
before he prints any more.
(TALKING AND LAUGHING INDISTINCTLY)
Ah, gentlemen, welcome.
Do you have a reservation?
Where's the bio-printer, Rimmer?
Is it here, because we're going in.
I'm afraid I can't let you in
unless you're on the list.
Let me see.
Stop screwing around, Rimmer.
Have you moved the bio-printer
to somewhere in the Officers' Club?
Sorry, you don't appear to be here.
Rimmer, party of two, 8:30 p.m.
Come in, how lovely to see you again.
Nice to see you.
How many did he print?
Rimmer party.
Four? Straight through,
cloakrooms on the left. Enjoy.
How many have you printed,
you smeg head?
You can't use bio-ink
to print more Rimmers, Rimmer.
Yeah, we need that ink
to print proper people.
Hey, what the hell is this?
We're the barbershop quartet.
Any ID?
(VOCALISING)
# Mr Rimmer, we are what we seem
# Rim, Rim, Rim, Rim
# The cutest quartet
that you've ever seen
# Rim, Rim, Rim, Rim
# We've got four mouths
a duet times two
# Rim, Rim, Rim, Rim
# This barbershop quartet
Is singing for you #
That is entertainment. In you go.
I've had enough of this tossing about.
Come on, we're going in.
I've got a cravat.
Hey. Hey.
- Ah, hot towel, sir?
- Move.
- Facial spray?
- Enough.
They barged their way
into the Officers' Club
and I need some bouncers.
Print four more mes
and make them huge, muscly and brave.
- Can the bio-printer do that?
- In theory, sir.
A complimentary executive
corridor beverage, sir?
Don't start.
Adjustments made, sir.
(MACHINE WHIRRING)
Why isn't it printing?
Well, the new settings need
extra time to calibrate, sir.
We'll just have to be
a little bit patient.
I have been patient.
What's wrong with it?
The damn thing. Come on.
(PRINTER WHIRRING)
Come on, come on, come on.
At last.
(STALLING)
The first one's got stuck,
we need a midwife.
KRYTEN: We'll have to do it ourselves.
Pull, Kryten. Pull me, pull.
What the hell is that thing?
Come on.
(GROWLING)
(SNARLING)
(WHIMPERS)
(GROWLING)
(BEEPING)
Officer's lift on floor 15, sir.
We've got to take the grunts.
Get me out of here, pronto.
GRUNT LIFT: I'm busy, okay?
Just close the doors,
there's a deranged
version of me out there.
There's one in here, too.
I'll take the stairs, sir.
We've got to tell the others.
(ALARM BEEPING)
- (KRYTEN GASPS)
- (GROWLING)
(GASPS)
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Just close the doors, please.
Hold the lift, don't close, wait for me.
(GRUNTS)
Officer's quarters now.
GRUNT LIFT: Okay, keep your hair on.
I'm not deaf. am I?
Right, I've rigged up
a monitor wirelessly
from the CCTV footage.
From this, we can see where the
Rimmer monster is and what it's doing.
(BEEPING)
CAT: It's gone into the Officer's deck.
(SCREAMING)
- Let me in.
- LISTER: Are you on the list?
Your name's not down, you can't come in.
- Riff raff only.
- I'm gonna get absorbed.
You're gonna have to admit
you're a grunt, total grunt.
You're gonna have to resign
your First Lieutenantship.
But I worked so hard for it.
- You did nothing.
- But I did it so well.
(GRUNTS IN FRUSTRATION)
Okay, okay, I resign. Just let me in.
(EXHALES)
Stand back, Technician 2.0.
What is that thing?
The human body is built of cells
with specific fixed roles, sir.
Stem cells on the other hand
can become any other type of cell.
What? Reprogrammable?
So when the printer jammed and did
a mash-up of all the countless Rimmers,
it didn't just combine the sum
of your parts physically,
it amalgamated all your faults.
I've got faults?
Your lust for power, your impatience,
your insecurity.
Yes, all right.
Your stupidity, your greed,
your arrogance.
Yes, thank you, Kryten.
And ordered these stem cells to make
a creature to accommodate them all.
CAT: So how do we kill it?
I have an idea, sir.
But it does involve using you as bait.
I love it already.
(RIMMER MONSTER GROWLING)
We'll have to go the long way round.
We can't shoot,
it might take out Mr Rimmer.
And the downside of that is?
I've got it. Hey, what are you doing?
(DISTORTED)
We are going to absorb the final Rimmer.
Aye, then what you gonna do?
We haven't decided yet.
You what?
Have you not made a to-do list?
We need to make a to-do list?
We should always make a to-do list.
Have you got a pen?
We always have a pen.
Well, then, write that list.
Oh, and don't forget
to put the last thing
you're gonna be doing on that list.
What's that?
- Dying.
- (SHOTS FIRING)
(THEME SONG PLAYING)
# It's cold outside
There's no kind of atmosphere
# We're 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
# Gold fish shoals nibbling at my toes
# Fun, fun, fun
In the sun, sun, sun
# Fun, fun, fun
In the sun, sun, sun #
