Original subtitles

Oh, Inga.

Inga!

Inga!!

Bud, wake up!

Huhm?

Who's Inga?

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 that 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 anythin'?

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?!

Ah. It worked, Sir!

Good call.

Ident details coming in.

It's a Space Corps deep-space scout ship

gravity antimatter propulsion engine

state-of-the-art tech-

it's even got one of those big captainy chairs

with flip-across picnic tray.

I'd kill for one of those.

You could captain your way through a space battle

and have a TV dinner at the same time.

Through?

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 going to 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.

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 want to 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 veranium.

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 we put machines

on 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 down- 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 figured.

The nearer the Nautilus gets to us,

the more we, ourselves, are in danger.

How'd 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 veranium goes up

and the blast radius nukes us, too.

We've only got one option.

He just launched a mining torpedo at him!

It's too late to intercept!

Rimmer, what have you done?!

I've just saved all our necks.

That's what I've done.

It was the only option.

Impact one minute and counting.

You've got to tell him.

You've got to 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 maneuver 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 authorization 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.

Mmmm, Simple affair, Kryten.

I don't want anything too special.

We'll have it in the Hall of Heroes.

Champagne, canapes.

Maybe a very quick six-guns salute.

Let's not get carried away.

And 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 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 4. Where is 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!

Look at it: 24 Hour Knitting channel?!

The Hat channel?!

Amish MTV!

We haven't got the totally, unnecessarily

massive, repeat sports package anymore!

Look at this!

Seven ID Seven, Premier League Croquet

Eastbourne Ladies vs Gloucester 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 has the old service lift

been turned to the grunts lift?

So the rank and file

can travel between floors with their own kind.

Meantime, you use the officers' 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.

Gentlemen,

I bid you a temporary farewell.

A towel, Sir.

Ah, thank you.

Facial mist for you, Sir.

Lovely.

Complimentary executive beverage for you, Sir.

Most kind.

That'll be all.

Go along.

Floor?

Floor?

I said "floor."

Landing Bay, please.

What?

Landing Bay!

Okay, keep your 'air on, I'm not deaf, am I?

Has he interfered with the lift some how and made it ruder?

Have a wonderful onward journey.

And we look forward to going down with you again soon.

How enchanting.

How hot was that lift?

My diodes are almost cooked!

Hey, 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...

Officers' Corridor? What's this?!

Well Sir, the scutters referbed the old tube tunnel.

See you at the end of the corridor.

Bon voyage!

His corridor has 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 lattice work's stunning!

You're most kind, Sir.

Not massively important, but this is our crew:

Cat.

Ah.

Kryten.

Uh-huh.

And Third Technician, Lister.

Ahhh. Is this Lister?

Ha-ha.

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 have been a bit hasty promoting you to officer.

I should have promoted you to first lieutenant.

And I have!

Congratulations!

Thank you so much, Sir.

What's the situation with the Nautilus, Flight Lieutenant?

Oh, that's me.

Uhm, the scutters 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 going to get him demoted now?

How, indeed.

Huhm.

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, photocopies 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.

Uh, Sir.

Are you familiar with the

Abraham Lincoln quotation on power?

Lincoln the president?

He got assassinated at the theater.

Indeed.

I've never been a fan of the theater, 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 theater 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-wait! Go back! Go back! Go back!

That's you!!

That's me!

How is that me?!

Your genome is in the Nautilus' database?

D-what?

How?!

Ah.

Ha.

Ah.

Ha.

I think I might have flogged it.

You flogged your genome?!

Yeah, I was a kid and my mate,

Dodgy offered me 100 dollar pounds

and a half a packet of fags for it.

All you have to do is put some saliva on a stick.

You sold the rights to your unique haploid

set of chromosomes, Sir?

You traded away the map categorizing

every detail of your genetic make up

for 100 dollar pounds and half a packet of fags?!

You think he should have 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 3 million years into the big black.

No one's coming out here. Who cares?!

Exactly. We're coooool!

Sir, I don't think you appreciate what you've done!

Thousands of different companies

have taken out a license 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?

Here's one.

License 10 years.

3,000 Listers -

Sandex Communication Listers, to be used in call centers.

Do you mean all those

smart-ass scousers in the call centers are me?!

I've had those Johnnies-

They're a pain in the backside!

They know nothing

and they sound like they don't want to be there.

They don't, Sir. They're you!

What have you done, Bud?!

So Rimmer is going to use this machine

to produce people who will obey him.

Never being born

has got to be better than a life like that.

We've got to 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 our flight lieutenant,

I can't refuse his orders!

Well I'll do it. Just tell me what to do!

Sir!

If you think I'm 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 think coming!

The entire database has deleted itself?!

Check bio-printer.

This is going down on 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 holosuite,

And my DNAs 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'm over them,

and then,

we can have an 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!

You what?

Officers' Club?

Evening. Evening.

Evening. Evening.

Evening

Evening.

Evening.

Where they come from?

He's bio-printing Rimmers!

We've got to kill that damn machine before he prints any more!

Ah, gentlemen - welcome. Do you have a reservation?

Where's the bio-printer, Rimmer?

Is it here, 'cause we're going in.

I'm afraid I can't let you in unless you're on the list.

Let me see.

Stop screwin' 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. Eight thirty PM.

Come in.

How lovely to see you again!

Nice to see you.

How many did he print!?

Rimmer party.

Four? Straight through.

Cloakroom's on the left. Enjoy!

How many have you printed, you Smeghead?!

You can't use bio ink to print

more Rims, Rimmer.

Yeah. We need that ink to print proper people!

Hey, what the hell is this?!

We're the Barbershop Quartet!

Any ID?

Mr. Rimmer,

We are what we seem,

The cutest quartet that you've ever seen.

We've got four mouths,

a duet times two,

this barbershop quartet is singing for you!

That, is entertainment.

In ya go.

I've had enough of this tossing about.

Come on, we're going in.

I've got the cravat!

Hey!

Hey.

Ah. Hot towel, Sir?

Move!

Facial spray?

Enough!

They've 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.

Complimentary Executive Corridor beverage, Sir?

Don't start!

Adjustments made, Sir.

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!!

Come on, come on, come on!

Last.

The first one's got stuck. We need a midwife!

We'll have to do it ourselves!

Pull, Kryten!

Pull me. Pull!

What the hell is that thing?!

Come on!!

Officer's lift on floor 15, Sir!

We've got to take the grunts!

Get me out of here, pronto!

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!

I'm sorry. I'm sorry!

Just close the doors, please!

Hold the lift!

Don't close! Wait for me!

Officers quarters now!

Okay, keep your 'air 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.

It's coming to the officers' deck!

Let me in!

Are you on the list?

If you're name's not down, you can't come in.

Riffraff only.

I'm going to get absorbed!

You're going to have to admit you're a grunt.

Total grunt.

Your going to have to resign your first lieutenant-ship.

But I worked so hard for it!

You did nothing!

But I did it so well!!

Okay, okay! I resign!!

Just let me in!

Stand back, Technician 2.0

What is that thing?

The human body is built of cells.

with specific fixed rolls, 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,

your stupidity, your greed,

your arrogance,

Yes - thank you, Kryten.

and ordered these stem cells

to make a creature to accommodate them all.

So how do we kill it?

I have an idea, Sir.

But it does involve using you as bait.

I love it already!

We'll have to go the long way around!

We can't shoot!

We might take out Mr. Rimmer!

And the downside of that is...?

I've got it. Hey!

What are you doing?

We are going to absorb the final Rimmer.

Oh aye.

Then what you going to do?

We haven't decided yet.

What? Do you not make a to-do list?

We need to make a to-do list?

You 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 going to be doing on that list.

What's that?

Dying!!