Red Dwarf s06e02 Episode Script
Legion
Ten o'clock changeover.
Anything to report? We're still lagging behind Red Dwarf, sir.
Almost twenty-four hours behind now.
Other than that, it's been a moderately quiet shift, except for one small shock a couple of hours ago when we noticed an alien invasion fleet off the starboard bow.
Thankfully it turned out to be one of Mr Lister's old sneezes that had congealed on the radar screen.
How are we fuel-wise? Unchanged for today, sir.
However, the supply situation grows increasingly bleak.
We've recycled the water so often, it's beginning to taste like Dutch lager.
We're okay for food, though, aren't we? Confidentially, sir, no.
We've no meat, no pulse and hardly any grain.
Worse still, the only liquorice allsorts left are those whorly little black twisty ones that everybody hates.
If that weren't bad enough, space weevils have eaten the last of the corn supply.
So what's under the grill? Space weevil.
You can't serve space weevil, Kryten.
I mean, not even Lister with his single remaining tastebud will knowingly sit down and eat insectoid vermin.
Well let's face it, with him it's practically cannabalism.
But it's incredibly nutritious, sir.
After all, it is corn fed.
You'll never get him to eat it.
Trust me sir.
They say the first bite is with the eye.
It's all down to presentation.
Et voila! Hi, honey, I'm home.
Supper, sir, and tonight's movie.
I'm sorry, sir, it is another Doug McClure.
Please don't hit me.
What's this? Sir? Raw carrot? Kryten, you know how I feel about fresh vegetables they're for health psychoes, vitamin freaks.
People who exercise.
I'm sorry, sir.
How's supper, Listy? It's delicious.
I didn't know we had any crunchy king prawn left! I hate to go all technical on you, but all hands on deck, swirly thing alert! Where? It's not on the radar yet but I can smell it.
Nothing here.
Nothing on long-range.
Sir, is it possible you could have made a mis-smelling? Wait! I've got something I'm punching it up.
Too small for a vessel maybe some kind of missile.
It's impossible to tell at this range.
Whatever it is, they clearly have a technology way in advance of our own! Range 15,000 Gigooks and closing.
Direct collision course.
Suggest evasive action! Engaging re-heat.
It's still with us! It's some kind of heat-seeker - we can't outrun it! That's it! We're deader than tank-tops! Look, maybe we can reason with it.
Open communication channels, This is acting senior officer Arnold J Rimmer of the Jupiter Mining Corporation transport vehicle Star Bug.
Now hear this, 'cos it's only coming once: We surrender, totally and without condition.
Thank you for listening.
Oh, additional: sorry to take up your valuable time.
Sorry.
Thank you.
Sorry.
Bye.
Bye.
Sorry.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Rimmer, you've got a longer yellow streak than a stampede of diuretic camels.
Know this about me: like General George S.
Patton, I believe in reincarnation.
It is my firm conviction that in all my previous lives I've been a soldier, a bold warrior soul, who tragically in this incarnation has been given the body of an abject coward.
So excuse me, gentlemen, while I have a humiliating panic attack under the scanner table.
Here it comes! Five Gigooks to impact hang onto your wage packets.
The controls are down! What on lo was that? Some kind of suction beam.
We're being dragged down.
Fire up the retros.
- Dead.
- Auxilliary power? - Dead.
- Joystick? Dead.
Aw, the entire panel's deader than A line flares with pockets in the knees! I've located the beam's source.
I'm punching it up.
So what have we got? Well, it seems we were snared by some kind of malfunctioning guidance beam.
Designed to help docking supply ships.
We've shut it down, and we're free to leave.
Anyone around? No life signs, nothing.
The ident computer is stubborn as a mule.
All I could get from its pesky little ROM was something about classified military research.
Wouldn't give me any details.
There must be something we can swipe.
Well gentlemen, our strategy is clear.
Let's tool up and go shopping! What? anything? I'm not sure.
Something.
It's almost off my nasal spectrum.
Strange - a life reading.
Why didn't it register before? Welcome, my friends.
It has been many centuries since I last had visitors.
You, of course, are Kryten.
And you are Rimmer, the hologram.
May I? Now then.
Yes, of course.
Primitive.
So basic.
You'd better have a mighty damn fine explanation for what you've just done, miladdio.
Forgive me.
I merely converted your projection unit from soft light to hard light.
Hard light? I've got a body? I can touch? feel? Puncture repair kit on standby, sir.
But how? I created the hard-light drive many years ago.
My mind is not all that it once was.
You, my friend, are Lister.
How come you know who we all are? You are in pain.
Here.
No, just a bit of Bangalore Belly.
No.
It is something more serious.
May I? Okay.
Your appendix.
As I thought, you were on the verge of peritonitis.
Cheers, man.
And you are the Cat.
You come anywhere near me, buddy, you'll be wearing them bowels as a bobble hat.
You're all tired and in need of nourishment.
Come, let us dine.
What is your name? Call me Legion.
Please, make yourselves comfortable.
Legion these statues.
You sculpted them yourself? Years ago.
I was a different person, then.
Well, according to my connoiseur chip, they fulfill all ten requirements for being masterpieces.
You're have a connoiseur chip? Just because I look like Herman Munster's stunt man doesn't mean to say I can't appreciate art, sir! I shall return with the feast.
Can I eat? I mean, in this body, is it possible? Mr.
Rimmer, in a hard-light body, you can do anything a human can do, with the added bonus that you are practically indestructible.
I can't be hurt!? You're pleasure and pain responses remain the same, but you cannot come to harm.
Excuse me.
His cellular structure is unique! Genetic strands I've never seen before.
Part living tissue, part mechanical.
We've got to persuade him to come with us.
He'd get us back to Earth in weeks! This Johnny won't come with us.
He'd never fit in.
Can you see him joining in on our late-night sessions of "pin the pointy stick on the weather girl"? True but once he's signed up and we're off in the Big Black it'll be too late for him to change his mind.
All we have to do is create the facade that we're not the uncouth morons you are.
Here is the feast.
It is a traditional How absolutely divine, Legion.
Although I must say, our souls are already gorged fit to burst with the feast of art laid out on your walls.
I wasn't aware you had an interest in art, Mr Rimmer? Many's a night we while away the wee hours contemplating a Caravaggio, discussing its shape, themes and form.
The pointy-stick game doesn't get a look-in anymore.
Hmm.
Marvelous.
Now this three-dimensional sculpture in particular is quite exquisite.
Its simplicity, it's bold, stark lines pray, what do you call it? The light switch.
The light switch.
Yes.
I couldn't buy it, then? Not really.
I need it to turn the lights on and off.
It's a pity, 'cos if it wasn't a I-light switch i-in many ways it could be considered a-a masterpiece.
Kryten, please join us.
Mamosian cuisine is quite acceptable for mechanoids.
Indeed.
It has long been a dream of mine to sample its unique flavours.
Let the meal begin.
I'm sorry.
Of course.
Not all of you can use Mamosian antimatter chopsticks.
I'm fully versed, Legion.
For my cooking duties, I'm programmed to be proficient in all known off-world eating techniques, including Jovian Boogle Hoops, and the often-lethal Mercurian Boomerang Spoon.
But the others.
Antimatter chopsticks? We use them all the time.
Can't even remember what a fork looks like.
Don't let a few congealed custard stains down Lister's long-johns delude you into thinking we're not sophisticates.
The trick is, of course, to never, ever, under any circumstances, to allow live sticks to touch; but of course we all know that.
Well, bon appetite.
Tuck in, Listy.
No, no, after you, man.
Wouldn't hear of it.
Sir, you're creating a reverse field.
Try and keep the electron flow in the same direction.
How do you land the damn stuff? Simply invert the ionic phase in the downpulse of the field margin.
I was with you all the way up to "simply".
Like so.
Sir, the glass is fixed to the table.
It's Mamosian telekinetic wine.
So how do you drink it? You simply will the liquid into your mouth, and then you telepathically decide on its flavour.
Thusly: Ah.
Delicious.
Kryten! Help me! Cat, that's mine! I can't help it, bud! Somehow we've crossed wavelengths! It feels like you're pulling my teeth out! Try swallowing it! I have - three times! My friends, I sense you are trying to impress me.
There really is no need.
Legion: may I be frank? It's not often we meet an individual who we feel could improve our already pretty damn fine top-notch team.
But in you, we feel we have.
We feel that you, like us, have the courage and the dignity it takes to make it as a Dwarfer.
Sir! Don't cross the chopsticks! Mr Rimmer, I am moved by the eloquence of your invitation, but it is quite impossible for me to leave the confines of the institute.
It was Lister, wasn't it? He put you off.
Is there nothing we can do to change your mind? Absolutely.
Then I'm afraid we must bid you farewell.
We have a long journey ahead of us.
Nonsense.
You have no journey at all, my friends.
I insist you stay here with me.
You will be my honoured guests, from now until the day you die.
Thirty-two.
This will be your cell, Dave.
My cell.
You really are a nutter, aren't you? Sugar Puff Sandwiches? Me favourite! I think you will find nothing here that isn't to your liking.
The entire room is stocked for your own unique personal tastes and requirements.
Two dozen eight-packs and a spare pair of sneakers in the ice box.
Faultless! Not an inch wasted.
All your favourite music, all your favourite movies.
Absolutely no Doug McClure.
You will want for nothing.
Nothing? What about company? What about people? There is a cyberpark in the complex.
You may go to any time-period of your choosing, and indulge any fantasy you wish, with any persons you desire.
And that's in some way supposed to make me happy? Sorry, run that by me one more time? You will meet your companions in the morning.
Now, you must excuse me they are falling asleep.
I must go.
Amazing.
Doesn't even need tuning! Good morning, sir.
What does he want from us? Why is he so obsessed with fulfilling our every desire? We're all equally baffled, sir.
Was your room like everyone else's, perfect in every detail? Impeccable.
Right down to the overstarched pyjamas and nocturnal boxing gloves.
What about you? Filthy walls, mud-streaked floors, mop and bucket I was in Hog's Heaven, sir! When I finally get round to writing my Good Psycho Guide, this place is gonna get raves.
Accomodation, excellent.
Food, first class.
Resident nutter, courteous and considerate.
Psycho rating's gotta be four and a half chainsaws.
Higher, maybe.
Sirs, we must not be seduced by all this fine living.
However munificent our captor, we are still prisoners.
And with every second that passes, we lose yet more ground on Red Dwarf.
You're right, Kryten.
Cat, caviar niblet.
Bucks fizz.
Let's talk about how to get out of this hellhole.
What do we know about this Johnny? And why is he so keen on keeping us happy? Is it possible that our well-being is in some way linked to his own? What? You mean like he's feeding off our emotions? Remember when we arrived, the scans recorded no life signs.
Is it possible that our very presence here has in some way inadvertently awoken him? Wait a minute I think I've got a way of getting out of here.
Has anyone ever seen "Revenge Of The Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire Girls"? I think that one slipped us by, sir.
Well, there's this one scene where the good-looking unconventional female journalist who wore glasses and a tight sweater was trapped, deep in the bosom of the surfboarding killer bikini vampire girls' lair, and she came up with this truly award-winning escape plan Ah.
Legion.
We have considered our position, and have decided our best option is to make a new life here with you.
You truly believed I would be deceived by that schlock plan from "Revenge Of The Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire Girls"?! I just want you to be happy! Now look what you made me do.
What the hell are you, buddy? Kryten knows.
I do? You suspect the truth.
You mean that you are a gestalt entity, not a single creature but a combination of individuals melded together to form one? "My name is Legion, for we are many" What, you're us? All four of us? Our combined minds and personalities, blended together? Oh, but much more than that, exponentially more.
The whole becomes far greater than the sum of its parts.
So we can't leave because you're us? You're created from us? If we leave, you cease to be.
Without you, my friends, I am quite literally nothing.
So if he's us, he can't hurt us, right? Wrong.
But this is insane.
Hurting us is hurting yourself.
Our pain is your pain.
Kryten, you forget.
Not only do I possess your combined intellects and memories, I also share the sum of your malice and rage and anger, magnified many times.
I'm capable of quite insanely irrational behaviour.
Watch.
The next hint of insurrection, and the scalpel ends up here Legion, that kind of tough talk doesn't scare us.
Yes it does! But what about the sculptures and the masterpieces and the technology? Where does that come from? My first incarnation.
I was host to the five most brilliant minds of their generation.
They were experimenting in collective intelligence.
I was the product of that research.
Heideger, Quayle and the others, the composite of their genius? Your mind must have been extraordinary! But all too soon old age began to kill them, and as each one died, I became less, until I was nothing, just a mindless essence swirling around the remnants of my acheivements, waiting to exist again.
There's just one thing that still baffles me.
What's that? Everything.
Sir, permission to test a supposition.
Granted.
Trust me, sir.
What's going down here? The gestalt requires our consciousness in order to exist.
Therefore, as each of us becomes unconscious, his power diminishes.
Permission to lay you out, sir? Do what you gotta, but don't mess up my hair.
Thank you.
Kryten, there has to be a more effective escape plan than this.
Sir, come back.
You're just delaying the inevitable.
I can't help it: I'm allergic to being hit.
You won't feel a thing.
I'll render you unconcious using the lonian Nerve Grip.
That's not an lonian Nerve Grip! That's smashing me over the head with a vase! There's no such thing as an lonian Nerve Grip.
Now stand still while I hit you! Your hard-light drive's tougher than vindalooed mutton! This'll do the trick.
You can't be serious! Harder! HARDER! HARDER! Stop! Stop! STOP! Oh, for God's sake! If you want a job doing properly, do it yourself! STOP! STOP, Kryten! Clearly this is not working.
I'm a hard-light hologram, and as such un-knockoutable.
Hmm.
I think you're right, sir.
Kryten! I'm sorry, sir.
I just thought that if I took you unawares Kryten! I'm trying to think, you rubber-headed eunuch! Right, got it.
Turn off my light-bee.
I can't, sir.
I can't penetrate hard light.
You'll have to extract it yourself.
Now we are even.
I am merely you.
Stalemate.
Not so.
Since the only ingredients in your psyche are mine, you are now incapable of malice.
And because a human life takes precedent over the life of any mechanical, you are in fact compelled to assist our safe passage to Starbug.
As long as the others remain unconscious, your logic is impeccable.
You take the Cat, I'll take Mr.
Lister.
In many ways I am relieved.
To have shared their psyches, their neuroses, their strange drives: returning to a limbo state of non-existence seems like promotion.
One last thing: in your original incarnation, when you were composed of all those great minds, did you ever develop anything which might assist our pursuit of Red Dwarf? Here we go: initiating ignition sequence.
Is this gonna work? Well, I see no reason why not, sir.
All tests bear out, it is indeed a fully functional stardrive.
If we've linked it correctly to the Bug's existing engines, we'll be able to catch up with Red Dwarf in a matter of nanoseconds! Yeah, but it's bound to go wrong, isn't it? Sir? It always does for us, every time.
He's right! There isn't a dog in hell's chance this stardrive is actually gonna work.
Sirs, haven't we learned over the past two days that if we all pull together we can become greater than the sum of our parts.
That if we are of one mind and one intent, there are no boundaries to what we can acheive.
This stardrive is going to work: do we believe? We believe.
Do.
We.
Believe? We believe.
Well, we know one thing, sir! What's that? It does work!
Anything to report? We're still lagging behind Red Dwarf, sir.
Almost twenty-four hours behind now.
Other than that, it's been a moderately quiet shift, except for one small shock a couple of hours ago when we noticed an alien invasion fleet off the starboard bow.
Thankfully it turned out to be one of Mr Lister's old sneezes that had congealed on the radar screen.
How are we fuel-wise? Unchanged for today, sir.
However, the supply situation grows increasingly bleak.
We've recycled the water so often, it's beginning to taste like Dutch lager.
We're okay for food, though, aren't we? Confidentially, sir, no.
We've no meat, no pulse and hardly any grain.
Worse still, the only liquorice allsorts left are those whorly little black twisty ones that everybody hates.
If that weren't bad enough, space weevils have eaten the last of the corn supply.
So what's under the grill? Space weevil.
You can't serve space weevil, Kryten.
I mean, not even Lister with his single remaining tastebud will knowingly sit down and eat insectoid vermin.
Well let's face it, with him it's practically cannabalism.
But it's incredibly nutritious, sir.
After all, it is corn fed.
You'll never get him to eat it.
Trust me sir.
They say the first bite is with the eye.
It's all down to presentation.
Et voila! Hi, honey, I'm home.
Supper, sir, and tonight's movie.
I'm sorry, sir, it is another Doug McClure.
Please don't hit me.
What's this? Sir? Raw carrot? Kryten, you know how I feel about fresh vegetables they're for health psychoes, vitamin freaks.
People who exercise.
I'm sorry, sir.
How's supper, Listy? It's delicious.
I didn't know we had any crunchy king prawn left! I hate to go all technical on you, but all hands on deck, swirly thing alert! Where? It's not on the radar yet but I can smell it.
Nothing here.
Nothing on long-range.
Sir, is it possible you could have made a mis-smelling? Wait! I've got something I'm punching it up.
Too small for a vessel maybe some kind of missile.
It's impossible to tell at this range.
Whatever it is, they clearly have a technology way in advance of our own! Range 15,000 Gigooks and closing.
Direct collision course.
Suggest evasive action! Engaging re-heat.
It's still with us! It's some kind of heat-seeker - we can't outrun it! That's it! We're deader than tank-tops! Look, maybe we can reason with it.
Open communication channels, This is acting senior officer Arnold J Rimmer of the Jupiter Mining Corporation transport vehicle Star Bug.
Now hear this, 'cos it's only coming once: We surrender, totally and without condition.
Thank you for listening.
Oh, additional: sorry to take up your valuable time.
Sorry.
Thank you.
Sorry.
Bye.
Bye.
Sorry.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Rimmer, you've got a longer yellow streak than a stampede of diuretic camels.
Know this about me: like General George S.
Patton, I believe in reincarnation.
It is my firm conviction that in all my previous lives I've been a soldier, a bold warrior soul, who tragically in this incarnation has been given the body of an abject coward.
So excuse me, gentlemen, while I have a humiliating panic attack under the scanner table.
Here it comes! Five Gigooks to impact hang onto your wage packets.
The controls are down! What on lo was that? Some kind of suction beam.
We're being dragged down.
Fire up the retros.
- Dead.
- Auxilliary power? - Dead.
- Joystick? Dead.
Aw, the entire panel's deader than A line flares with pockets in the knees! I've located the beam's source.
I'm punching it up.
So what have we got? Well, it seems we were snared by some kind of malfunctioning guidance beam.
Designed to help docking supply ships.
We've shut it down, and we're free to leave.
Anyone around? No life signs, nothing.
The ident computer is stubborn as a mule.
All I could get from its pesky little ROM was something about classified military research.
Wouldn't give me any details.
There must be something we can swipe.
Well gentlemen, our strategy is clear.
Let's tool up and go shopping! What? anything? I'm not sure.
Something.
It's almost off my nasal spectrum.
Strange - a life reading.
Why didn't it register before? Welcome, my friends.
It has been many centuries since I last had visitors.
You, of course, are Kryten.
And you are Rimmer, the hologram.
May I? Now then.
Yes, of course.
Primitive.
So basic.
You'd better have a mighty damn fine explanation for what you've just done, miladdio.
Forgive me.
I merely converted your projection unit from soft light to hard light.
Hard light? I've got a body? I can touch? feel? Puncture repair kit on standby, sir.
But how? I created the hard-light drive many years ago.
My mind is not all that it once was.
You, my friend, are Lister.
How come you know who we all are? You are in pain.
Here.
No, just a bit of Bangalore Belly.
No.
It is something more serious.
May I? Okay.
Your appendix.
As I thought, you were on the verge of peritonitis.
Cheers, man.
And you are the Cat.
You come anywhere near me, buddy, you'll be wearing them bowels as a bobble hat.
You're all tired and in need of nourishment.
Come, let us dine.
What is your name? Call me Legion.
Please, make yourselves comfortable.
Legion these statues.
You sculpted them yourself? Years ago.
I was a different person, then.
Well, according to my connoiseur chip, they fulfill all ten requirements for being masterpieces.
You're have a connoiseur chip? Just because I look like Herman Munster's stunt man doesn't mean to say I can't appreciate art, sir! I shall return with the feast.
Can I eat? I mean, in this body, is it possible? Mr.
Rimmer, in a hard-light body, you can do anything a human can do, with the added bonus that you are practically indestructible.
I can't be hurt!? You're pleasure and pain responses remain the same, but you cannot come to harm.
Excuse me.
His cellular structure is unique! Genetic strands I've never seen before.
Part living tissue, part mechanical.
We've got to persuade him to come with us.
He'd get us back to Earth in weeks! This Johnny won't come with us.
He'd never fit in.
Can you see him joining in on our late-night sessions of "pin the pointy stick on the weather girl"? True but once he's signed up and we're off in the Big Black it'll be too late for him to change his mind.
All we have to do is create the facade that we're not the uncouth morons you are.
Here is the feast.
It is a traditional How absolutely divine, Legion.
Although I must say, our souls are already gorged fit to burst with the feast of art laid out on your walls.
I wasn't aware you had an interest in art, Mr Rimmer? Many's a night we while away the wee hours contemplating a Caravaggio, discussing its shape, themes and form.
The pointy-stick game doesn't get a look-in anymore.
Hmm.
Marvelous.
Now this three-dimensional sculpture in particular is quite exquisite.
Its simplicity, it's bold, stark lines pray, what do you call it? The light switch.
The light switch.
Yes.
I couldn't buy it, then? Not really.
I need it to turn the lights on and off.
It's a pity, 'cos if it wasn't a I-light switch i-in many ways it could be considered a-a masterpiece.
Kryten, please join us.
Mamosian cuisine is quite acceptable for mechanoids.
Indeed.
It has long been a dream of mine to sample its unique flavours.
Let the meal begin.
I'm sorry.
Of course.
Not all of you can use Mamosian antimatter chopsticks.
I'm fully versed, Legion.
For my cooking duties, I'm programmed to be proficient in all known off-world eating techniques, including Jovian Boogle Hoops, and the often-lethal Mercurian Boomerang Spoon.
But the others.
Antimatter chopsticks? We use them all the time.
Can't even remember what a fork looks like.
Don't let a few congealed custard stains down Lister's long-johns delude you into thinking we're not sophisticates.
The trick is, of course, to never, ever, under any circumstances, to allow live sticks to touch; but of course we all know that.
Well, bon appetite.
Tuck in, Listy.
No, no, after you, man.
Wouldn't hear of it.
Sir, you're creating a reverse field.
Try and keep the electron flow in the same direction.
How do you land the damn stuff? Simply invert the ionic phase in the downpulse of the field margin.
I was with you all the way up to "simply".
Like so.
Sir, the glass is fixed to the table.
It's Mamosian telekinetic wine.
So how do you drink it? You simply will the liquid into your mouth, and then you telepathically decide on its flavour.
Thusly: Ah.
Delicious.
Kryten! Help me! Cat, that's mine! I can't help it, bud! Somehow we've crossed wavelengths! It feels like you're pulling my teeth out! Try swallowing it! I have - three times! My friends, I sense you are trying to impress me.
There really is no need.
Legion: may I be frank? It's not often we meet an individual who we feel could improve our already pretty damn fine top-notch team.
But in you, we feel we have.
We feel that you, like us, have the courage and the dignity it takes to make it as a Dwarfer.
Sir! Don't cross the chopsticks! Mr Rimmer, I am moved by the eloquence of your invitation, but it is quite impossible for me to leave the confines of the institute.
It was Lister, wasn't it? He put you off.
Is there nothing we can do to change your mind? Absolutely.
Then I'm afraid we must bid you farewell.
We have a long journey ahead of us.
Nonsense.
You have no journey at all, my friends.
I insist you stay here with me.
You will be my honoured guests, from now until the day you die.
Thirty-two.
This will be your cell, Dave.
My cell.
You really are a nutter, aren't you? Sugar Puff Sandwiches? Me favourite! I think you will find nothing here that isn't to your liking.
The entire room is stocked for your own unique personal tastes and requirements.
Two dozen eight-packs and a spare pair of sneakers in the ice box.
Faultless! Not an inch wasted.
All your favourite music, all your favourite movies.
Absolutely no Doug McClure.
You will want for nothing.
Nothing? What about company? What about people? There is a cyberpark in the complex.
You may go to any time-period of your choosing, and indulge any fantasy you wish, with any persons you desire.
And that's in some way supposed to make me happy? Sorry, run that by me one more time? You will meet your companions in the morning.
Now, you must excuse me they are falling asleep.
I must go.
Amazing.
Doesn't even need tuning! Good morning, sir.
What does he want from us? Why is he so obsessed with fulfilling our every desire? We're all equally baffled, sir.
Was your room like everyone else's, perfect in every detail? Impeccable.
Right down to the overstarched pyjamas and nocturnal boxing gloves.
What about you? Filthy walls, mud-streaked floors, mop and bucket I was in Hog's Heaven, sir! When I finally get round to writing my Good Psycho Guide, this place is gonna get raves.
Accomodation, excellent.
Food, first class.
Resident nutter, courteous and considerate.
Psycho rating's gotta be four and a half chainsaws.
Higher, maybe.
Sirs, we must not be seduced by all this fine living.
However munificent our captor, we are still prisoners.
And with every second that passes, we lose yet more ground on Red Dwarf.
You're right, Kryten.
Cat, caviar niblet.
Bucks fizz.
Let's talk about how to get out of this hellhole.
What do we know about this Johnny? And why is he so keen on keeping us happy? Is it possible that our well-being is in some way linked to his own? What? You mean like he's feeding off our emotions? Remember when we arrived, the scans recorded no life signs.
Is it possible that our very presence here has in some way inadvertently awoken him? Wait a minute I think I've got a way of getting out of here.
Has anyone ever seen "Revenge Of The Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire Girls"? I think that one slipped us by, sir.
Well, there's this one scene where the good-looking unconventional female journalist who wore glasses and a tight sweater was trapped, deep in the bosom of the surfboarding killer bikini vampire girls' lair, and she came up with this truly award-winning escape plan Ah.
Legion.
We have considered our position, and have decided our best option is to make a new life here with you.
You truly believed I would be deceived by that schlock plan from "Revenge Of The Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire Girls"?! I just want you to be happy! Now look what you made me do.
What the hell are you, buddy? Kryten knows.
I do? You suspect the truth.
You mean that you are a gestalt entity, not a single creature but a combination of individuals melded together to form one? "My name is Legion, for we are many" What, you're us? All four of us? Our combined minds and personalities, blended together? Oh, but much more than that, exponentially more.
The whole becomes far greater than the sum of its parts.
So we can't leave because you're us? You're created from us? If we leave, you cease to be.
Without you, my friends, I am quite literally nothing.
So if he's us, he can't hurt us, right? Wrong.
But this is insane.
Hurting us is hurting yourself.
Our pain is your pain.
Kryten, you forget.
Not only do I possess your combined intellects and memories, I also share the sum of your malice and rage and anger, magnified many times.
I'm capable of quite insanely irrational behaviour.
Watch.
The next hint of insurrection, and the scalpel ends up here Legion, that kind of tough talk doesn't scare us.
Yes it does! But what about the sculptures and the masterpieces and the technology? Where does that come from? My first incarnation.
I was host to the five most brilliant minds of their generation.
They were experimenting in collective intelligence.
I was the product of that research.
Heideger, Quayle and the others, the composite of their genius? Your mind must have been extraordinary! But all too soon old age began to kill them, and as each one died, I became less, until I was nothing, just a mindless essence swirling around the remnants of my acheivements, waiting to exist again.
There's just one thing that still baffles me.
What's that? Everything.
Sir, permission to test a supposition.
Granted.
Trust me, sir.
What's going down here? The gestalt requires our consciousness in order to exist.
Therefore, as each of us becomes unconscious, his power diminishes.
Permission to lay you out, sir? Do what you gotta, but don't mess up my hair.
Thank you.
Kryten, there has to be a more effective escape plan than this.
Sir, come back.
You're just delaying the inevitable.
I can't help it: I'm allergic to being hit.
You won't feel a thing.
I'll render you unconcious using the lonian Nerve Grip.
That's not an lonian Nerve Grip! That's smashing me over the head with a vase! There's no such thing as an lonian Nerve Grip.
Now stand still while I hit you! Your hard-light drive's tougher than vindalooed mutton! This'll do the trick.
You can't be serious! Harder! HARDER! HARDER! Stop! Stop! STOP! Oh, for God's sake! If you want a job doing properly, do it yourself! STOP! STOP, Kryten! Clearly this is not working.
I'm a hard-light hologram, and as such un-knockoutable.
Hmm.
I think you're right, sir.
Kryten! I'm sorry, sir.
I just thought that if I took you unawares Kryten! I'm trying to think, you rubber-headed eunuch! Right, got it.
Turn off my light-bee.
I can't, sir.
I can't penetrate hard light.
You'll have to extract it yourself.
Now we are even.
I am merely you.
Stalemate.
Not so.
Since the only ingredients in your psyche are mine, you are now incapable of malice.
And because a human life takes precedent over the life of any mechanical, you are in fact compelled to assist our safe passage to Starbug.
As long as the others remain unconscious, your logic is impeccable.
You take the Cat, I'll take Mr.
Lister.
In many ways I am relieved.
To have shared their psyches, their neuroses, their strange drives: returning to a limbo state of non-existence seems like promotion.
One last thing: in your original incarnation, when you were composed of all those great minds, did you ever develop anything which might assist our pursuit of Red Dwarf? Here we go: initiating ignition sequence.
Is this gonna work? Well, I see no reason why not, sir.
All tests bear out, it is indeed a fully functional stardrive.
If we've linked it correctly to the Bug's existing engines, we'll be able to catch up with Red Dwarf in a matter of nanoseconds! Yeah, but it's bound to go wrong, isn't it? Sir? It always does for us, every time.
He's right! There isn't a dog in hell's chance this stardrive is actually gonna work.
Sirs, haven't we learned over the past two days that if we all pull together we can become greater than the sum of our parts.
That if we are of one mind and one intent, there are no boundaries to what we can acheive.
This stardrive is going to work: do we believe? We believe.
Do.
We.
Believe? We believe.
Well, we know one thing, sir! What's that? It does work!