Original subtitles

(STIRRING MUSIC)

(FLUSHING)

(WHOOSHING)

Hello? Testing - one, two, three.

Hello? Yes!

OK. Here we go. Ship's log... um... one.

I've decided to keep a journal and send it off in a probe.

Since turning 28, I feel a new maturity about myself.

I can't remember the last time I urinated on Rimmer from D-deck...

No, wait a minute - Friday. But apart from that one lapse,

I'm up there with Abe Lincoln and Moses.

Just recently we came across a craft, piloted by ourselves from 15 years into the future.

We had a bit of an argument, and they attacked us. See attached...

- Another lock! - Incoming message.

You give us access to the data we require

or be prepared to be blasted out of the sky.

(RIMMER) Cat!

Dead. But there may be...

Kryten!

There may be a what? A way out of this? Is that it?

S... speak, Kryten. How can we change what's happening?

We were no match. They killed us

and destroyed everything on board ship, including the Time Drive,

which meant there was no Time Drive to bring back into the past

to destroy their past selves in the present.

Put simply, by killing us they killed themselves,

because once we were dead it was impossible to become them

and return in time to kill ourselves in the past that was the present.

(BUZZING)

Oh, smeg!

Explaining about our future selves again, sir?

- I thought I'd have one more go. - That's the third camera!

They can't take it, sir.

I'm trying to explain that Starbug's still damaged

because anomalies have emerged to cope with the paradox.

Oh! Garbled, confusing

and, frankly, duller than an in-flight magazine for Air Belgium.

Just state our position and explain we're down on supplies.

All right! All right!

This is Dave Lister of the JMC transport vehicle Starbug.

We're down on supplies. We need help. Out.

By the way, we're in space. Just passed a reddy moon.

Coordinates enclosed.

It's about that shape. You can't miss it.

("RED DWARF" THEME)

(LISTER) Ship's log update, Friday am.

The battle with our future selves has had the most terrible consequences.

Wiped out? Kryten, man, they can't be.

I'm afraid so, sir. The laser cannon breached the water tank and flooded deck B.

- They didn't stand a chance. - But surely...

There was nothing we could do, sir.

So, you mean...

now we've got no poppadoms at all?

No poppadoms, no curries... All the Indian food supplies have been totalled.

I'll have to survive without them.

- I'll have salads. - Sir, you're in shock.

- You don't know what you're saying. - After all, it's only curry.

The enormity of it hasn't sunk in.

You must mourn, sir. You must mourn.

- Me curries. - Oh, sir.

Get it out. Cry like a baby.

What am I gonna do? Curry night was the one beacon I had.

It made me feel like a normal ordinary guy, not some freak stuck in deep space -

no woman, no hope, no curry.

Worse still, a choice of only two alcoholic beverages - Cinzano Bianco or advocaat.

- It's a human tragedy. - No lager?!

Sir, there is nothing unmanly in howling like a hungry prairie dog.

- No lager?! - All the supplies on B-deck were destroyed, sir.

There wasn't even any wreckage, no debris, zip.

God... A few beers and a curry, it was the highlight of my week!

I looked forward to curry night, too.

Seeing your little face all happy and smiling.

Come rain or shine, we'd always make time for curry night every Friday.

- Saturday. - Sunday.

- Tuesday. - Wednesday.

And Thursday. Always the same meal - three poppadoms with mango chutney.

- Those little onions. - Dill pickle.

That Day-Glo green mint sauce that just doesn't wash out.

- The red stuff that no one knows what it is. - Then a shami kebab starter.

Followed by a chicken vindaloo, kamikaze hot, with a fire extinguisher on standby.

And two scoops of kulfi ice-cream.

And two indigestion tablets.

Oh, life without curry?

It's like Laurel without Hardy,

the Lone Ranger without... that Indian bloke.

Sir...

Perhaps you could learn to love pasta?

Pasta? You sick?

You know the news? All the curry supplies have been destroyed.

We heard.

As a mark of respect, on Sunday at 12 o'clock we'll have a minute's flatulence.

It's nothing to you guys, is it? Curries were my life.

God, some of the nights! I remember once on Orion,

I drank a yard of vindaloo sauce, then went out on the pull.

- It was a bet. - As mechanoids can't vomit, please continue.

I went to this club, started dancing with this Space Corps nurse.

- Couldn't hear her name. - Fido, was it?

- Lassie, possibly? - She was very attractive, actually.

Short skirt, ankle bracelet, took out her gum to eat her chicken in a basket. Class.

All right, her teeth looked like half-open garage doors,

but it was nothing a cosmetic surgeon couldn't fix.

- So what happened? - I went over to her, leant in close,

asked her to dance...

- For a few seconds, she didn't answer. - She was probably concussed.

A yard of vindaloo sauce? You must have had breath that could shear sheep.

- We started to snuggle up... - I'm not sure I want to hear this.

Then all of a sudden... a rumbling in me stomach.

All I can remember is running across the dance floor, through the crowd.

- Just made it. - So you didn't get off with her?

All I got off was the loo six hours later.

When I got back, everyone was gone. They had to wait for me to lock up.

Nearly put me off curries for life. I didn't have another one till the next night.

What an enchanting little tale.

Well, I'm off to glug a couple of yards of vindi sauce,

then if we happen to chance across planet of the snooty sex sirens, I can't miss.

Sirs, I suggest we carry out a thorough inspection of the ship.

The altercation with our future selves caused dimensional anomalies

which have expanded the cargo deck by 212%.

We should ascertain that the structures are stable.

(CAT) Time has returned to the point before we discovered the time machine.

So what's to stop us going back on board the Gemini 12 and picking it up again?

We have to avoid all forms of time travel.

It's the only way of ensuring we don't end up like our future selves.

Surely we can use the Time Drive if we don't abuse it like our future selves did?

- You know, if we're sensible and mature. - And do what?

Go back in time to an Indian takeaway and order 500 curries.

Sir, the scheme is irresponsible, moronic and preposterous!

All your hallmarks, bud!

One big takeaway order every two years and our problems are over.

YOUR problems are over. OUR problems are just beginning.

What about causality? Interfering in the past, however minutely,

always alters the present - cause and effect.

Look, I'm a curry-aholic! I've only got two taste buds that work.

I need curry.

We can't take any more chances. I say the Time Drive stays where it is.

I'd rather wear sideways-pressed flares and a clip-on tie than agree with goalpost head,

but this time he's right.

Oh, OK. OK.

(KRYTEN) Since that completes the B-deck inspection, sirs,

permission to off-line for the next 12 hours while I discard some old cache files?

How come you need more memory?

Over the years, you've had more RAM than a field of sheep.

My head is littered with unnecessary information, sir.

The ability to sing the Bay City Rollers' greatest hits is no longer a priority.

Crooning "Bye Bye, Baby" is usually more than sufficient.

This clean-up thing, how does it work?

I simply attach my RAM to the ship's computer and download the unwanted files into its trash.

Your RAM's in your head, isn't it? So you won't be using your body?

- Why do you ask? - Just interested.

Robotics, it's fascinating, isn't it?

(ALARM RINGS)

(CLICKS)

(CLICKS)

- Heavens! I'm head head! - Shh!

- It's only temporary. - I don't understand.

I want to go on a curry hunt. Kryten said no. What do you say?

I can't go behind Kryten's head. What would he say?

It's deceitful, wrong and dishonest.

I'm in! Those are emotions I've longed to experience,

but you'll have to override my guilt chip and behaviour protocols.

- OK. How? - Press the catch behind my right ear.

(BLEEPING)

OK, here we go.

My guilt chip.

No behaviour protocols.

Just call me "bad ass"!

Ooooooooowww!

I feel great! Got all the beauty sleep I needed. Stayed awake all night.

Hey, that smells good. What's for brekkie?

Waffles, dripping in honey and jam

with three fried eggs coated in cheese!

- That sounds as healthy as jumping off a cliff. - Healthy? Who cares? Pork away!

(WHIRRS)

So, um... Kryten, now that you've had time to think,

what about that curry hunt?

I meant to mention that. I overreacted yesterday. On reflection, I think it'd be quite safe.

- Safe? - What about causality?

Causality? Well, OK, one event causes another,

but sometimes, you just gotta say, "Laws of time and space? Who gives a smeg?"

I think what Kryten's trying to say is...

- You're smoking! - Oh, is my generator overheating again?

- A cigarette. - Want one?

- Of course not! - Should I go outside?

What Kryten's saying is that it's OK to go back in time

and order a lake of vindaloo to go, right?

- You bet your ass! - OK, so let's do it.

Kryten, can I have a word?

What is wrong with you? You don't smoke, you never say "bet your ass",

and you never use your groinal attachment to stir tea!

- I didn't get any error commands. - You've got no behaviour protocols.

- Get a grip or we'll be rumbled. - (WHIRRS)

So uptight.

(KRYTEN HUMS FUNKY TUNE)

What is wrong with that demented Tonka toy now?

He's got a bio-glitch in his transponder calibrations. It's only temporary.

Hey, Mr Time Drive!

OK, Kryten, we want the Taj Mahal Tandoori Restaurant

behind the JMC building in London.

- Back table. Quiet. - I'll just get acquainted with the controls.

- But you've used it before. - Have I?

Yes, of course I have. Sorry. Stupid of me.

Just programming it now, matey boy.

(GUNSHOT)

(GUNSHOT)

Nice landing, Kryten. That was as smooth as Egyptian whiskey.

Apologies, sir. I'm not sure what I did then.

This isn't right. Where are we?

Well, according to the Time Drive, the date is November 22nd 1963,

and we're in the city of Dallas.

How come? Gimme that thing!

I've always been a bit of a whiz with these kinds of gizmos.

You're right. Dallas, '63. No doubt about it.

(SIRENS WAIL)

Dallas? Wasn't that that place where that American king got assassinated?

- JFK. - No, John something, not Jeff Kay.

J-F-K, not Jeff Kay, you gimboid. Like the airport. I studied him at school.

Why would anyone name their kid after an airport?

Heathrow Lister. John, Paul, George and Ringway.

Actually, that could work.

- The airport was named after the president. - All right.

We didn't do 20th-century history at my school. It didn't seem interesting.

Apart from nuclear fusion and snazzy car adverts, they did nothing.

The last human being alive and he's got less brains

than a monkey after the first course of a Vietnamese wedding banquet.

(SIRENS WAIL)

Where did this gunman dude shoot from anyway?

Well, if my histo-chip serves me correctly,

the gunman's location was in the Texas Book Depository.

It was probably from this very window!

Do you reckon?

Hey, what's this?

Hey! There's something on the end of this! Give us a hand!

Pull! They're in trouble!

(WAILS)

Hey, what's going on down there?

Why are all those people gathered around that giant pizza?

That is not a giant pizza, sir.

It's eight foot across, man. You don't think that's giant?

What kind of pizza house have you been going to? The Fat Bastoria?

Hey, look at this! I think we just pulled the gunman out of the window!

FBI! Drop the gun!

- Don't shoot! - Hands on heads!

You are hereby charged with the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Thanks to Mr Oswald, the president is alive.

What is that? Some kind of weapon? Kick it over here!

(WHOOSH)

(WHOOSH)

(WHOOSH)

Oh! Nice one, Kryts.

- Where are we? - It says 1966.

We must have gone forward three years.

At least we can analyse the original error.

Hey, there's nobody here.

The entire city's deserted.

I don't understand. All we did was save Kennedy's life.

- Is that bad? What kind of a dude was he? - He was a fine man.

Look!

- Can you get anything for us from his scent? - (SNIFFS)

Male.

Mid-thirties. Last meal...

a salt beef sandwich with extra mayo and a gherkin.

Smoker. Starched shirt. Probably married.

Eric White. Single, vegetarian... chairman of the Anti-Smoking League.

I bet I'm right about the gherkin.

It looks like he was trampled to death in some kind of stampede.

Just processing. (BLEEPS)

I'll re-route the results through my chest monitor.

President Kennedy was impeached in 1964

for sharing a mistress with Mafia boss Sam Giancana.

It was the biggest scandal in American history.

Kennedy was sentenced to three years in an open prison in July '65.

J Edgar Hoover became president. He was forced to run by the mob,

who had pictures of him at a transvestite orgy.

So America had a president controlled by the Mafia?

Soon after his election, the USSR were allowed to install a nuclear base in Cuba

in return for Mafia cocaine trafficking between Cuba and the States.

With a Soviet nuclear base 30 miles from the US mainland,

people fled from all the major cities.

So I could get a major nuclear explosion all over this suit?

'Cause I'm telling you guys, that stuff does not dry-clean!

- Back to Starbug. - Starbug isn't there. It doesn't exist.

- What? - How come?

Kennedy's impeachment in '64 traumatised the American nation,

allowing the USSR to win the space race.

In this reality, the Russians were probably first to land on the moon.

- So we're marooned? - How was I supposed to know

a chicken vindaloo was going to cause all this?

- You said Kennedy was a great pres. - He was.

He was also an inveterate womaniser. His affairs were legendary.

- They never came out when he was alive. - Every man has his Achilles' heel.

Kennedy's was just higher up.

If I knew this was gonna happen, I'd have had an egg sarnie and finished the Cinzano.

Kryten, what've I done, man?

Well, you've brought the 20th century to the brink of extinction, sir.

- Gum? - What is wrong with you?

Where is your compassion? You've got about as much warmth as a service station chip!

You've no behaviour protocols, have you?

And you thought causality didn't matter?

Every action has trillions of implications. How come you forgot?

I didn't forget. I just didn't care. I've got no guilt.

Ah.

I nicked Kryten's body. That's Spare Head Two.

I removed his guilt chip.

You have altered the entire course of civilisation from the 20th century onwards,

brought the world close to nuclear war, and worst of all...

I know, I know. I still haven't had a curry.

No, worst of all, the Time Drive has frozen.

Let me see.

Do you think the sub-space conduits have locked with the transponder

and overloaded the time matrix?

No, sir. I've just been jabbing it too hard.

So what now?

We need to have time to try to unfreeze it.

I suggest we set up camp here, and Kryten can look for some food.

I'm on my way, sir!

How can a guy be an icon in one reality

and a criminal in the next for doing exactly the same things?

- In one reality, he wasn't caught. - But was he a good guy or not?

- Both. - Somewhere along the way, like me,

he disabled his guilt chip and discarded his behaviour protocols.

- Power corrupts. - Is it true?

- Can you be two things simultaneously? - Take you, sir.

In some ways, you're bright, sensitive and caring.

In other ways, you're an irresponsible, curry-obsessed moron.

Thanks, Kryten. That's... Wow, yeah.

It's hopeless. I can't fix it. We're trapped.

- Chicken's good. - Yeah, really good.

- That's not chicken, sirs. - Oh, what is it?

It's that man we found. It's Eric.

- What? - Well, it seemed such a waste

to leave him lying there when he'd barbecue so beautifully.

- (SNIGGERS) - I didn't get any error commands.

Obviously, I thought about it. Without my guilt chip I had nothing to guide me.

But it seemed to me that if humanoids eat chicken,

they'd eat their own species, otherwise they'd just be picking on the chickens.

One minute you're down, the next you're right back up again.

- I just said I was enjoying that. - I knew it didn't smell right! Oh, my God!

- I'm a cannibal! - (BLEEPING)

- Look! - Right, let's get out of here!

I need to floss roasted dead person out of my teeth!

- Where to? - Hawaii. Let's catch some surf.

No. We've got to go back and stop ourselves interfering with the assassination.

I don't care where we go, as long as it's before we had dinner!

- Decorators. - Try up on the sixth floor.

Isn't this sick, just standing by to allow the president to be killed?

- Not if you're Eric White it ain't. - To think, Eric's out there right now

with no idea that he's a between-meals snack that does ruin your appetite.

Unless we put things back the way they were.

Stand back, sir, our original selves are about to beam in.

When they realise their mistake they'll beam out again. I propose we go down to the fourth.

- (GUNSHOT) - First shot!

- It doesn't smell right. He's missed. - How come?

By sending Oswald up to the sixth,

we've made the trajectory of his shot so steep he's only wounded him.

Let's start again and send him to the fifth.

We can't use the fifth. Our original selves beam in there,

and we're now on the fourth.

We've been copied more times than that poster of the tennis girl scratching her butt.

If we could arrange for a second gunman to fire from that little hill over there...

You mean the, er... grassy knoll, sir?

That'd solve it, wouldn't it?

Shoot the pres? Who?

- You can count me out. - And me.

Hang on. Maybe, just maybe, there's someone who can get us out of this mess.

- Where are we going? - Idlewild airport, July '65.

(WHOOSH)

He's being escorted to Hoover open prison in New York. Give me five minutes.

(WHOOSH)

Don't be alarmed, sir, but I have a very strange tale to tell.

I have had plenty of time to reflect on my deeds in the White House.

In all important respects, I believe I did a good job.

It was right to plan a pull-out of Vietnam, to fight for civil rights,

and to fight to put a man on the moon.

It was wrong, however, to, ah, act like an irresponsible jackass with all those women

and allow my enemies to wreak havoc on our nation.

But I can help, man... I mean, Mr President, man... I mean, sir.

How can you help?

Well, come with us back to Dallas, November 1963. Be a second gunman.

The gunman behind the grassy knoll.

You mean... assassinate myself?

Yeah. It'll drive the conspiracy nuts crazy, but they'll never figure it out.

But I still have a future here.

Jackie left me, but when I get out, I can still make a contribution to the world.

See this airport? Idlewild Airport?

In our reality, they renamed it JFK after you.

Where I come from, you're a liberal icon, as you should be.

But to be that person, you have to sacrifice your life.

And only then will my reputation be restored in history?

Mmm. And I can get a smeggin' curry.

Ask not what your country can do for you...

ask what you can do for your country.

- Hey, that'd make a pretty neat speech. - It did.

I... thank you all for giving me the opportunity to, ah... be reborn.

Smeg!

I forgot to ask if there are any curry houses in Dallas!

(CAT WHISTLES NONCHALANTLY)

Aaargh!

Right, Kryty. Same drill.

You measure the output. I'll note the reading.

Just give me a second to get in position.

Right. In your own time.

Well?

350 volts, sir. Same as the others.

Not that one, then. Still, we're narrowing it down.

- Just 17 more to go. - Sir, can't we use an actual volt meter,

as opposed to, well... using me?

Oh! Too good to be a volt meter now?

One morning poncing around without your guilt chip

and suddenly you think you're some hoity-toity robo-god

instead of the lashed-together Meccano gimboid that you are.

Oh, I'm only too happy to be of service.

If you asked me to remove my head and turn it into a chemical toilet, I'd be honoured.

It's just that firing my eyes out of my head does invalidate my Divadroid service guarantee.

I would hate to malfunction and you not get a refund.

Wouldn't that be so annoying?

I am a total twonk.

How could I be such a saliva-dribbling, moronic, putzy little smegger?

It's good that book on self-enlightenment, isn't it?

The curry supplies. There was no debris.

No little bits of floating crate. They weren't destroyed in the flood.

What happened to them, then?

I took 'em. At some point in the future, I must go back to the past

and bring all the curry supplies to the present. Kapish?

Of course! It's so simple, even a concussed gym teacher could understand it.

This is the last jaunt... I promise.

No, absolutely not. As senior technician on this ship, I absolutely forbid it.

(WHOOSHING)

What is the point of being a superior officer if he never obeys a single command?

He won't even let me court-martial him, even when I ask nicely.

- We might as well have a melon in command. - I thought we had, sir.

Oh, I see. Sorry, sir.

The voltage must have corrupted my comprehension unit.

Stand back! It sounds like something's coming in.

(WHOOSHING)

Yes! This thing is amazing. If only we could use it to get back to Earth.

Sir, you saw the havoc we caused in Dallas on our arrival.

Heaven knows what would happen if we lived in the past permanently.

He's right. No more idiotic gaffs until... Think we could make it to half four?

I must have passed this thing a million times. What the hell's it for?

Nice going on the idiotic gaffs front, sir. We almost lasted a full five seconds.

Surely you don't think that was accidental? I've had that ace up my sleeve for months.

They're not coming back.

I'm lost in deep space,

over three million years from home.

No life, no bird, no nothin'.

Just me and three and a half tons of curry.

Fan-smeggin'-tastic!

It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere

I'm 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

Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

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