by Ganymede & Titan
Series XI - Officer Rimmer - All scenes
(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)
Bud, wake up.
- 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.
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?
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.
- 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.
Ident details coming in.
It's a space called
deep space scout ship,
gravity antimatter propulsion engines,
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.
- Coming through now, sir.
According to their manifest,
the crew total is half.
- Half what?
- I don't know, sir.
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.
we've got pictures coming through.
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?
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.
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.
After all these years. Oh, yes.
You are genuine, pedigree,
thoroughbred scum, aren't you, Rimmer?
That's Officer Rimmer to you,
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.
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?
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
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,
How did you get there? Bike or bus?
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?
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
It's a grudge match.
It's not too bad. Hot dog?
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,
I bid you a temporary farewell.
- Hot towel for you, sir.
- Ah, thank you.
KRYTEN: Facial mist for you, sir.
Complimentary executive beverage
for you, sir.
(LIFT DOOR BEEPS)
That'll be all. Run along.
GRUNT LIFT: Floor?
Floor? I said floor.
- Landing bay, please.
Okay, keep your hair on.
I'm not deaf. am I?
Has he interfered with the lift somehow,
made it ruder?
Have a wonderful onward journey
and we look forward to going down
with you again soon.
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.
This corridor's got the best
of everything, air con, music.
Look, he doesn't even have to walk.
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.
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.
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?
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?
I want to print out all those
who ranked below me,
regardless of job or profession.
Shouldn't we speak to Mr Lister, sir?
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.
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?
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.
No, wait, wait, wait, wait,
go back, go back, go back.
That's me. How's that me?
Your genome was
in the Nautilus' database?
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
and half a packet of fags?