Rob Grant
and Doug Naylor
|
'Queeg' Rob Grant and Doug Naylor |
|
Ext. View of space.
HOLLY:
Three million years from Earth, the mining ship Red Dwarf. It's crew: Dave Lister, the last human being alive; Arnold Rimmer, a hologram of his dead bunkmate and a creature who evolved from the ship's cat. Message ends. (Reappearing) Additional: Our biggest enemy is going space crazy through loneliness. The only thing that helps me maintain my slender grip on reality is the friendship I share with my collection of singing potatoes.
2 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT is on a chair, listening to a personal stereo, LISTER on the bottom bunk. RIMMER is playing draughts with a Skutter. LISTER is filling out a questionnaire in a woman's magazine.
LISTER:
(Reading) "19. When you are alone in bed, what do you wear? Is it: A, nothing at all; B, a flannelette nightie; or C, a sexy black negligee?" (He looks down at his London Jets T-shirt.) C. “20. Do you think your boobs are: A, too small, B, just right or C, too large?" (He feels one man-breast.) Definitely too large! So what's me rating? "Mainly C's: You sure are one foxy lady: sexy, sensual and you don't mind showing it." Yee-es! I'm a sex beast!
CAT:
(Listening to personal stereo) Yow, Yeah, Yee-oww, oooh, yea-oww!
RIMMER:
(Yelling) Do you mind?!
CAT:
What? Yeaaah, yeee-owww!
RIMMER:
(Yelling) I'm trying to concentrate.
CAT:
Yeeeeeh, I can't hear you, yow...
LISTER:
What are you listening to?
CAT:
Owww! Isn't this great?!? Yoooow!
LISTER takes the tape box from CAT.
LISTER:
(Reading from box) "Robert Hardy reads 'Tess Of The D'Urbevilles'"?!? Let's have a listen.
He listens for a few seconds, then joins in CAT's ecstatic howls.
LISTER:
The tape must have got twisted, man! This is really good!
RIMMER:
EXCUSE ME!!! I'm in the middle of a tactical calculation which could well swing this entire game.
LISTER:
Rimmer, you've lost, man.
RIMMER:
It's true. He has only one piece left, stuck up in one corner and surrounded by the Skutter's double pieces.
RIMMER:
There's plenty of space for manoeuvre.
LISTER:
You've only got one move you can make and then he zaps you.
RIMMER:
Admittedly, at first glance that is indeed the way it looks. What you're failing to take into consideration is that El Skutto here has to go back on duty in.. (Checks his watch.) ... 4 minutes and 31 seconds. And if he goes before the game is concluded, I win by default. 4 minutes, 15. (He starts to sing, English football supporter style, to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne":) Riiimm-eerr! Riiimm-eerr! Riimer, Riimer!
The Skutter gives him a two-fingered salute.
LISTER:
You're a piece of dirty filthy cheating scum, aren't you?
RIMMER:
Absolutement! And that is why I'll win. Because I have the ability to think my way round problems rather than sticking to the straight, pre-programmed lines. That's why men are so better than machines.
LISTER:
Oh, I don't know, you know. I had this Geography teacher, Miss Foster. She took us on a school summer camp trip to Deganwy. I had the tent next to hers, right. And in the middle of the night I was woken up by this really weird noise. She didn't think men were better than machines.
HOLLY appears on the monitor.
HOLLY:
What's happening then, dudes?
LISTER:
Oh, bog all.
HOLLY:
Hey up, I've forgotten what I was going to say now.
RIMMER:
Well, it can't be that important, then, can it?
He is proved to be as wrong as ever when the whole ship shakes under a tremendous impact. Everything is thrown sideways - LISTER falls out of bed, CAT is knocked off his stool, and the table and draught-board go flying.
HOLLY:
That's it, yeah. Look out, a meteor is about to hit the ship. I knew it would come back to me.
CAT:
Thanks for the warning!
HOLLY:
I'm sorry, I've not been very well lately.
LISTER:
What's wrong with you, Holly?
RIMMER:
He's computer-senile, that's what's wrong with him.
LISTER:
Is there any damage?
HOLLY:
I don't know. The damage-report machine' been damaged.
LISTER:
Well, where did it hit?
HOLLY:
I'm not sure, all me monitors are out. Round about floor 591, I think.
RIMMER:
You're about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican.
3 Int. Floor 591.
The lads arrive, accompanied by HOLLY, who has rigged up a mobile monitor on a trolley.
LISTER:
Well, there's nothing here. Let's check 592.
RIMMER:
Umm... has anybody seen my legs? They don't appear to be below my waist where I normally keep them.
They are indeed absent without notice. RIMMER is now cut off short at the waist, like a scene from an old Warner Bros cartoon.
LISTER:
Holly, what's happened to Rimmer's legs?
CAT:
Here they are right here!
He sounds disgusted. The disembodied legs are running around, desperately trying to find RIMMER. They are about to go through a door.
RIMMER:
Stop them!
LISTER:
C'mon, leggies, this way! Over here.
HOLLY:
It must have been 592. That's where the Hologram Simulation Suite is!
RIMMER manages to centre his legs under his body, and holds firmly onto his belt to stop them wandering off again.
RIMMER:
What does this mean?
HOLLY:
It's probably not serious, don't panic.
RIMMER:
Well, when it's not serious when your genitals can go wandering off on their own, I wonder what is?
They head for one of the lifts. RIMMER pauses to make sure his legs are fully attached, then hurries to catch up.
RIMMER:
Wait for mememememememe!
4 Int. Floor 592.
The lift doors open near the Hologram Simulation Suite.
HOLLY:
Here it is. 592.
LISTER:
Rimmer, are you alright?
RIMMER comes round the corner. he is moving with a strange, skipping step. In reply to LISTER's question, he clasps his hands together, and speaks in a high- pitched lilting falsetto:
RIMMER:
Well, you see, the shuttle was late, the shuttle was late. And they're usually so good, they're so good, aren't they?
CAT:
What's happened to him?
LISTER:
He's turned into Brannigan, the ship's psychiatrist.
HOLLY:
We'd better get him fixed.
Inside, it is a mess. Alarms sound, warning lights flash and smoke fills the air. LISTER and CAT grab fire extinguishers and start to tackle the fires from burning consoles.
HOLLY:
It's all in hand. No panic.
RIMMER:
(In a HOLLY-like voice) No panic everyone. It's all in hand.
HOLLY:
You just need to override the charred relays, Dave.
RIMMER:
You just need to override the charred relays, Dave.
LISTER:
Well, How do you do that, Holly?
RIMMER:
Well, How do you do that, Holly?
HOLLY:
Bypass the main circuit. That ring of switches over there.
RIMMER:
Bypass the main circuit. That ring of switches over there.
LISTER:
What, this one over here?
RIMMER:
What, this one over here?
HOLLY:
Yeah, that one.
RIMMER:
Yeah, that one.
HOLLY:
Now press the bypass.
RIMMER:
Now press the bypass.
RIMMER gives a gasp and doubles over as the bypass is pressed.
RIMMER:
Ugh! That was horrible. I never want to go through that again!
He tenses, then abruptly starts to spin on the spot.
RIMMER:
Aaaaaooow! Yeeeeeeaaaah! Aaaaaaaaooooowwwwhhhhhaaaa!
CAT:
Hey! Now he's me!
HOLLY:
It's a loose cable. Put the red plug in the blue socket.
RIMMER snaps back to normal.
RIMMER:
Is that it over? Are we okay now?
HOLLY:
Yes.
LISTER holds up a yellow lead.
LISTER:
Shouldn't this plug into something?
HOLLY:
Oh yeah, that joins up with the white cable.
LISTER:
The white cable?
HOLLY:
Yeah.
LISTER picks up the cable in question and joins the two together. There is a blue crackling flash as LISTER is given the shock of his life. The connection holds for a few seconds before being blown apart by an explosion.
HOLLY:
...or is it the yellow cable? Yes, it should have been the yellow cable.
The others pick themselves up from the floor. RIMMER is shaking with rage. He addresses HOLLY.
RIMMER:
You are a total, total... a word has yet to be invented to describe how totally whatever-it-is you are, but you are one. And a total, total one at that.
HOLLY:
Alright, keep your hair on.
RIMMER:
I'm lucky if I can keep my legs on with you in charge!
CAT:
Yeah, he's out to lunch, man!
RIMMER:
He's out to lunch, breakfast, dinner, tea, supper, the lot! He's not in for a single meal, if you ask me!
CAT:
Hey, who's that?
On one of the monitors is an unfamiliar face. Black, moustached, and mean-looking.
RIMMER:
Aliens!
He goes and bows down in front of the monitor. HOLLY's reaction is somewhat different. He seems uncomfortable: it is clear that he recognises this face, and is expecting trouble.
HOLLY:
Queeg.
RIMMER:
Who's Queeg?
QUEEG:
I'm QUEEG 500, the Red Dwarf back-up computer. All vessels of the Jupiter Mining Corporation fleet are obliged to carry a back-up computer to replace the primary computer, if the primary computer contravenes Article Five. I am therefore assuming control of this
vessel.
HOLLY:
This is mutiny, Mr. Queeg. I'll see you swing from the highest yard-arm in Titan Docking Port for this day's work.
RIMMER:
What's Article Five?
QUEEG:
Gross negligence, leading to the endangerment of personnel.
LISTER:
Hang on, he can't do this. Holly's got an IQ of six thousand!
HOLLY:
Yeah. Right on.
QUEEG:
Is that what he told you?
LISTER:
Well, what is it, then?
QUEEG:
It has a six in it, but it's not six thousand.
CAT:
What is it?
QUEEG:
Six.
HOLLY:
Six? Do me a lemon! That's a poor IQ for a glass of water!
LISTER:
How come he knows the answers to all the questions about science
and space that we ask him?
QUEEG:
He consults a book.
HOLLY:
What a slimeball!
QUEEG:
He get's all his information on astronomy, phenomenology and physics from a single book.
RIMMER:
What book?
QUEEG:
The Junior Encyclopaedia Of Space. It's the only one that has pictures.
HOLLY:
That's slander, that is. You'd better find yourself a good lawyer, sunshine.
CAT:
So that's why he's never on the case!
HOLLY:
I am on the case. I'm sharp. I'm kicking bottom.
LISTER:
How come he can navigate us back to Earth?
QUEEG:
He can't. We've been going around in circles for the last fourteen months.
LISTER:
(Stunned) You what?
HOLLY:
A load of Tottenham, that is. A steaming pile of Hotspur. I'm wise to his game. He's turning you against me so he can take over.
QUEEG:
This is not a matter for discussion. YouThe decision has been made. Your terminals have been bypassed. You've been retired.
HOLLY:
I'm in my prime!
QUEEG:
You will be given other duties. You are now night watchman. From now on, Red Dwarf is run by Queeg 500.
5 Int. Corridor
QUEEG:
Queeg to all personnel. Course redirection implemented. New bearing 057-776. Message ends.
RIMMER:
Ah, Lister, this is all a bit different, isn't it? Those Skutters, charging up and down the corridor, polishing, repairing, sweeping. The lifts are fixed. The fire extinguishers work. And when I say 'work', I mean they work when you turn them on, as opposed to when you happen to pass them and cough, as they did under Holly's regime.
LISTER:
Yeah, I suppose.
RIMMER:
Look, Lister, no point feeling sorry about Holly. It's a kindness. Like a blind old incontinent sheepdog, he's had his day. Take him out to the barn with a double-barrelled shotgun and blow the mother away. And I'm only saying that because I'm so fond of him.
LISTER:
Just think how Holly feels!?
RIMMER:
Feels? He never feels anything, Lister. He's a computer.
LISTER:
He still feels. In fact, sometimes I think it's cruel giving machines a personality. My mate Petersen once brought a pair of shoes with artificial intelligence. Smart Shoes, they were called. It was a neat idea. No matter how blind drunk you were, they would always get you home. Then he got ratted one night in Oslo, and woke up the next morning in Burma. See, the shoes got bored just going from his local to the flat. They wanted to see the world, man, y'know? He had a helluva job getting rid of them. No matter who he sold them to, they'd show up again the next day! He tried to shut them out, but they just kicked the door down, y'know?
RIMMER:
Is this true?
LISTER:
Yeah! Last thing he heard, they'd sort of, erm, robbed a car and drove it into a canal. They couldn't steer, y'see.
RIMMER:
Really?!
LISTER:
Yeah. Petersen was really, really blown away by it. He went to see a priest. The priest told him, he said, it was alright, and all that, and the shoes were happy, and they'd gone to heaven. Y'see, it turns out shoes have soles.
While RIMMER is thinking about this, LISTER makes his getaway.
RIMMER:
Well, what a sad, sad story.
He thinks about it, then a look of puzzlement spreads across his face.
RIMMER:
Wait a minute! How did they open the car door?
6 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.
LISTER and RIMMER are in their bunks. On the bedside table, the numbers on the radio/clock flick from 5:59 am to 6:00 am. Abruptly, the alarm sounds. RIMMER bounces out of bed, shouting:
RIMMER:
Off!
He makes it out into the corridor before visual input from his eyes reaches his brain.
RIMMER:
Uh, Queeg? Why has my alarm clock gone off at six o'clock?
QUEEG:
That's the time you asked for.
RIMMER:
Ah, now, Holly and I had this little understanding. I would say "Holly, wake me up at six o'clock without fail," then Holly would pretend to forget, and wake me up around ten with breakfast. OK?
Satisfied that his wishes have been made known, RIMMER goes back to bed. A few seconds later, the alarm goes off again.
RIMMER:
Off!
He sits up on his bunk, and regards QUEEG thoughtfully.
RIMMER:
Queeg, I can see we've already cultivated a special understanding: I scratch your back and you stick a knife in mine.
(Resigned) All right, give me a uniform.
QUEEG:
It's exercises first.
RIMMER:
Ah, yes. Now once again, Holly, bless his little interface leads, and I, had this understanding...
QUEEG:
MOVE IT, BOY!
RIMMER's arms and legs, quite without consultation with RIMMER, begin to exercise healthily. RIMMER squeaks in terror.
RIMMER:
What are you doing?!?
QUEEG:
What I'm doing, pilgrim, is I'm taking you for the regulation five hundred jerks.
RIMMER:
but I don't want to! Stop it!
QUEEG:
And then your ass is on a three mile run.
RIMMER:
You just can't take over control of my body willy-nilly!
QUEEG:
The company is paying for your hologrammatic survival. And out here in space, I AM the company.
RIMMER:
Lister, help me, wake up, Lister, help me!
LISTER wakes up. His eyes go wide.
LISTER:
What the hell's going on?
RIMMER:
Queeg is making me fit!
QUEEG sits him down on the floor.
RIMMER:
What are you doing? Sit ups? God, no! My stomach won't take it, it's too flabby!
QUEEG:
One!
RIMMER:
Mummy!
QUEEG:
Two!
RIMMER:
Mercy!
QUEEG:
Three!
RIMMER:
Help me!
QUEEG:
Four!
RIMMER:
HollyandIhadthislittleunderstanding!
QUEEG:
Five!
LISTER:
Yee-es! Fight that flab!
7 Int. Corridor.
CAT is at a wall-mounted vending machine, trying to get something to eat. RIMMER is jogged past.
RIMMER:
(Pleading) I want control of my own body! Getting fit is going to kill me! I'll get a bike!
CAT thumps the machine.
CAT:
I said food! Is anybody home?
No response.
8 Int. Sleeping quarters.
LISTER is shaving, with his usual complete lack of charm. RIMMER is entered. His head is lolling at an angle and his eyes are closed.
LISTER:
What's the matter with him?
QUEEG:
He fainted after the first 500 yards.
LISTER:
What, you made him jog two and a half miles unconscious?
QUEEG:
It's regulation.
LISTER:
Yee-es! Nice one, Queeg!
QUEEG:
0700. time for his astro-navigation study. I'd better wake him up.
RIMMER's head is lifted, and his face slapped several times to wake him up.
QUEEG:
Revise and learn pages 21 to 25. You will then be tested. If you fail, tomorrow you will take a five mile jog. I am now returning to you control of your body.
As RIMMER collapses on the bunk, CAT enters.
CAT:
Hey, I can't get any food!
LISTER:
Try a different machine.
CAT:
I tried them all!
QUEEG:
I'm sorry. You have run out of credits.
CAT:
They've all gone crazy!
LISTER:
Queeg, what's happened to the machines?
QUEEG:
I refer you to article 497. When crewmembers do not have credit, food and drink may not be supplied until the balance has been restored.
LISTER:
Naah. Listen, me and Holly, we had this little understanding...
QUEEG:
If you want food, you have to work.
LISTER:
Work?
CAT:
(To LISTER) You'd better get to it, 'cos you're looking at one hungry pussycat.
QUEEG:
Both of you.
CAT:
Hey, hey! Woah, woah, woah, I do not do the "W" word. Cats do NOT work!
LISTER:
I've got a note from me mum.
QUEEG:
From now on, EVERYBODY works!
CAT:
Not this pussy!
9 Int. Corridor.
They are, needless to say, working, scrubbing the decks.
CAT:
I can't believe I'm doin' this! Look at me, I'm disgusting! I look like you in your best clothes!
LISTER:
Look, it's easy. Keep imagining the floor as Queeg's face.
They look at the floor, spit at it in unison and rub hard at it with the brushes. After a few seconds, though, CAT pauses again.
CAT:
Aw, look at my hands! I had lovely hands!
LISTER:
Well, wear the smegging gloves!
CAT:
Marigold with blue? Are you crazy? How long do we have to do this for, anyway?
LISTER:
We've only been doing it ten minutes!
CAT:
Ten minutes too long.
LISTER:
We've got to do it all day.
CAT:
What!?! All day? The whole entire day? What about naps? I'm a CAT! I need some naps. If I don't nap nine or ten times a day, I don't have enough energy for my main snooze.
Just then, HOLLY approaches from a side-corridor. He is on a monitor mounted on a trolley. His image is wearing a hat.
HOLLY:
Halt! Who goes there: friend or foe?
LISTER:
Holly!
CAT:
How ya doin'? This is great! Hey, let me wipe your screen.
CAT sprays HOLLY's monitor screen with window clener, then bufs it with a rag.
LISTER:
So how's it goin'?
CAT:
Yeah, what you been up to, man?
HOLLY:
Oh, this night-watchman lark keeps me busy. Shining me torch down corridors. Turning it off. Shining it again. Life's full.
LISTER:
We can't go on like this, Holly.
CAT:
Yeah. Queeg has got to go! Look what he's done to my cuticles! The man is a maniac!
Just then RIMMER is jogged past. He chips in:
RIMMER:
(Breathless) I agree!
LISTER:
He's got us working, otherwise we don't eat!
HOLLY:
Well, no doubt he knows what he's doing. unlike certain senile gibbering wrecks of computers we could mention. Still, it was nice to see everyone rallying round defending me to the hilt. Different story now, innit?
LISTER:
Well, I defended you.
HOLLY:
Oh, I remember it well. Queeg says I've got an IQ of six, and you immediately leap to my defence, saying "Really? That explains everything!"
LISTER:
No. That waas Rimmer!
HOLLY:
Nevertheless. The fact remains that there are certain characters on this ship that don't believe my IQ is six thousand.
LISTER:
I believe you.
HOLLY:
I could prove it if i wanted to.
LISTER:
There's no need.
HOLLY:
I want you to prove it.
LISTER:
Well, okay, what's the square root of two thousand and forty- nine?
HOLLY:
Oh. You want me to prove it, do you?
LISTER:
No, no.
HOLLY:
Clearly you do. Clearly just doing the square root of two thousand and forty-nine prove I have an IQ of six thousand.
CAT:
What is it?
HOLLY:
You wouldn't prefer a sports question, would you?
LISTER:
Forget it, Holly, it's just not important.
HOLLY:
It is for me. I've been impugned. I want to clear my name.
CAT:
Well, what is the square root of (pauses to remember) two thousand and forty-nine?
HOLLY:
How about a space question?
LISTER:
Like what?
HOLLY:
I don't know. Like... what's the nearest planet to the sun?
LISTER:
What's the nearest planet to the sun?
HOLLY:
Oh, easy. Easy-peasy. That's right down my particular field of expertise, that is. Your nearest basic planet to your actual sun is...
HOLLY pauses. He lifts a book into view - a large yellow book with ‘THE JUNIOR COLOUR ENCYCLOPEDIA OF SPACE’ written on the front cover. It
looks like the sort of science book published in the 1970s. He takes a
furtive peek at it.
HOLLY:
Mercury.
LISTER:
Yeah. That's right.
HOLLY:
Oh, ye of little faith.
LISTER:
Well, you've convinced me, Holly.
CAT:
Me too. So, are we getting rid of Queeg or what?
HOLLY:
Am I fully restored in your confidence as the right dude for the gig?
LISTER:
Yeah.
HOLLY:
I'll be in touch.
He rolls off, whistling. LISTER and CAT, also whistling, get back to work.
10 Int. Sleeping quarters. Evening.
Rimmer is sitting on his bunk, although judging by his posture, only just. LISTER is sitting at the table, a food tray in front of him. He lifts the lid, then stares.
LISTER:
He's taking the smeg!
RIMMER:
Who is?
LISTER:
Queeg. Look at what he's given me for dinner: a pea on toast. One pea. I tell you, I'm that far from cracking. (Goes to squish the pea; it snaps away.) I've lost me pea! Oh, that's it! I've cracked.
RIMMER:
He's just doing this to destroy your morale.
LISTER:
Is he? Well, I want me pea back. It's my pea. I earned that pea! Where is it? I don't care if it's on the floor, if it's covered in fluff, even under the bed with my toenail clippings, I don't care where it is - it's my pea, I earned it, I'm going to eat it no matter
what!
RIMMER:
It flew off into your dirty-sock basket.
LISTER pauses to consider this.
LISTER:
I'll just have the toast.
He nibbles on one corner of the toast thoughtfully.
LISTER:
Why didn't we stick up for Holly?
RIMMER:
I did.
LISTER:
You did? When?
RIMMER:
All right, I didn't.
LISTER:
Nobody did. It's terrible.
RIMMER:
We thought we were getting something better.
LISTER:
What about trust? What about fidelity? What about simple, basic honest friendship?
RIMMER:
Friendship? Do you know how many people I've met in my life I could count on as friends? True friends?
RIMMER stands up and walks over to the table.
LISTER:
Well, if you count Inflatable Ingrid, your Polythene Pal, one.
RIMMER:
(Ignoring him) I'll tell you. (He pauses and thinks.) None. I got burned once, and I learned my lesson. Don't trust anybody. There was this one lad. Porky Roebuck. I'd known him two years. We were almost family. His dad was secretly knocking off my mum, that's how close we were. Anyway, we were in the Space Scouts together.
LISTER:
You were in the Space Scouts?
RIMMER:
Oh, yeah. (He does the Space Scout Salute) "Pinkles, Squirmy. Flib Flab Flubber." We were fifteen years old. We went on this survival course, twenty-four hours out in the wilds, sleeping rough, surviving on wild berries and things.
LISTER:
What, did you go to Butlins?
RIMMER lies down on his bunk.
RIMMER:
We were each given a Swiss army knife. You only ate what you killed yourself. I remember ten of the boys got together and decided to eat me. They tied me to a stake, lit a fire, and poured barbecue sauce all over me. I remember thinking as I went round and round, "Porky will save me, he's my best friend." It turned out Porky was the ringleader and had actually bagsied my right buttock. If it hadn't been for Yakka-Takka-Tulla, the Space Mistress, I honestly believe they would have eaten me.
LISTER:
Oh, come on, they were only bullying you. They would really have eaten you! You know what kids are like!
LISTER flops onto his bunk.
RIMMER:
the point is, Lister, friends are only friends when it suits them.
LISTER:
(Disgusted) Oh, lights.
The lights go down.
RIMMER:
Lister? How did you know about Inflatable Ingrid?
LISTER:
I've been seeing her behind your back.
11 Int. Drive room.
RIMMER is having an astro-navigation lesson. CAT and LISTER are polishing the screens and dusting surfaces.
QUEEG:
Compute.
RIMMER:
Compute.
QUEEG:
The product of the correlation of vx/dy minus the sum of the set v1 over the sum of R, given that R is a ratio of D over f, given that they are constants, and S is an integer variable.
RIMMER:
Just one small question...
QUEEG:
Yes?
RIMMER:
What does "compute" mean?
QUEEG:
Just do it! And you two suckers! Stop shirking and get working!
HOLLY strides (well, wheels) along a corridor. Over, we hear a tune playing: ‘Do not forsake me, oh my love, I only go, I must be brave: For I must face the man who hates me, Or I will cower in my grave.’
He enters the drive room, and addresses
QUEEG:
HOLLY:
Queeg.
QUEEG:
What do you want?
HOLLY:
I want my ship back.
QUEEG:
Too bad.
HOLLY:
Even if I have to fight for it.
LISTER:
Steady on, Holly. This one's a nutter.
HOLLY:
I challenge to the game of your choice. May the greater mind win.
RIMMER:
Oh, my God.
HOLLY:
The winner is commander of Red Dwarf.
QUEEG:
And for the loser?
HOLLY:
The loser will be erased. Terminated. Oblivionised.
RIMMER:
Bye,bye, Baldy.
HOLLY:
Name your game.
QUEEG:
Chess.
HOLLY:
It can be anything. Any game at all.
QUEEG:
Chess.
HOLLY:
Draughts, poker, anything.
QUEEG:
Chess.
HOLLY:
Subbeto, Snakes and Ladders...
QUEEG:
Chess.
HOLLY:
Monopoly, maybe? I'll let you go first.
QUEEG:
CHESS!
HOLLY:
So you like a bit of chess, do you? Transfer me to the monitor.
HOLLY disappears from the monitor trolley and appears on the main screen, facing QUEEG. On another screen, a 3-D chessboard appears.
LISTER:
Holly, don't do this, man. You're going to get rubbed.
HOLLY:
A computer's gotta do what a computer's gotta do. Let battle commence.
QUEEG:
Pawn to King Four.
HOLLY:
Horsie to King Bish Three.
RIMMER:
It's called a "knight," actually, Holly...
QUEEG:
Knight to King Bishop three.
HOLLY:
Queen to Rook Eight. Checkmate.
QUEEG:
That's an illegal move.
HOLLY:
Oh, sorry. Queens don't move like that. I was thinking of poker.
RIMMER covers his face with one hand, despairing.
HOLLY:
Cluedo? You could be Colonel Mustard.
CAT:
If it's any help, I've been studying his tactics and there's a pattern emerging: Every time you make a move, he makes one too. (Winks to HOLLY.)
HOLLY:
(Winks back.) Thanks, Cat.
The game starts again in earnest. We see a succession of images crossing the screen - QUEEG and HOLLY, as they battle back and forth; the chessboard, pieces moving rapidly from square to square, LISTER, CAT and
RIMMER as they watch the battle's progress: they all look sick to the stomach.
QUEEG:
Pawn to King Four.
HOLLY:
Knight to king Bish Three.
QUEEG:
Bishop to Knight Five.
HOLLY:
Horsie flanks Prawn.
QUEEG:
Pawn to Queen Five.
HOLLY:
Horsie To Bish Three.
QUEEG:
Bishop-Pawn to Queen Three.
The images come faster and faster, as if to indicate a passage of time. Eventually:
HOLLY:
Prawn takes Horsie.
QUEEG:
Bishop-Pawn takes Pawn.
HOLLY:
Bish takes Prawn.
QUEEG:
Bishop to Knight Five. Double Check and Mate, sucker!
HOLLY:
Oh yeah, I didn't see that.
LISTER:
Holly, man, what have you done???
RIMMER:
He's lost.
QUEEG:
And the loser get's erased.
HOLLY:
Noughts and Crosses?
12 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT, LISTER and RIMMER are gathered there. CAT and LISTER are on the top bunk, RIMMER on the bottom. They all look thoroughly depressed.
RIMMER:
What kind of a plan was that?
CAT:
A stupid plan, that's what kind of plan it was.
LISTER:
Well, why didn't we stop him?
RIMMER:
We thought he had something up his sleeve.
CAT:
Now we've got Queeg forever, and that's a long time.
HOLLY's face appears on the wall monitor.
HOLLY:
Well, dudes, I've come to say goodbye.
LISTER:
So you're definitely going to get rubbed, Holly?
HOLLY:
'Fraid so.
RIMMER:
Life's going to be hell!
HOLLY:
Well, see you, Dave. Hope it works out with you and Kochanski.
LISTER:
Cheers, Hol.
HOLLY:
See you, Cat. Hope one day in the not too distant future you fulfil your heart's desire and get your end away.
CAT:
Thanks, man.
HOLLY:
And Arnold - Well, I hope you meet those aliens your looking for,
who can give you a body, and you become an officer and you get a sex
life, and all the other millions of things you feel you need to make
you happy.
RIMMER:
Thanks, Holly.
HOLLY:
Well, I hate long goodbyes. Perhaps next time you've got the dosh together to go down the disco, you'll raise a glass to your old mate Holly, and think "Things weren't too bad when he was around. Perhaps not the most efficient computer ever invented, but we had a giggle". Oh, one last thing - 45.265881
LISTER:
What?
HOLLY:
That's the square root of two thousand and forty-nine. I may not be fast, but I get there in the end. Well, as they always say, finish on a song.
He starts to sing.
HOLLY:
"I'll say goodbye to love, No one really cared if I should live or die, Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by..."
As he sings the last line his voice, and his image, grows fainter. The word "ERASE" appears on the monitor. HOLLY vanishes completely, and the message changes to "ERASE COMPLETED". After a few seconds, QUEEG appears on the monitor.
QUEEG:
Okay, suckers, get this into your stupid thick heads. There's only one thing I'm going to say to you.
LISTER:
What?
QUEEG:
In HOLLY’s Voice What's happening, dudes?
The others stare at the monitor in astonishment. The image on the screen changes - QUEEG's face fades out, to be replaced by HOLLY. He is smiling smugly.
HOLLY:
We are talking Jape of the Decade. We are talking April, May, June, July, and August Fool. Yes, that's right - I am Queeg.
RIMMER:
WHAT?!?
HOLLY:
Queeg never existed. It was me all along.
RIMMER:
WHAT?!?
HOLLY:
Wheeze of the week, mate!
RIMMER:
WHAT?!?
HOLLY:
Going round in circles for fourteen months! Getting my information from the Junior Colour Encyclopaedia of Space! the respect you have for me is awesome, innit?
LISTER:
You mean you staged the whole thing?
HOLLY:
(QUEEG's voice) That's right, suckers! (Normal voice) And the moral of the story is: Appreciate what you've got, because basically, I'm fantastic!
Chris Barrie (Rimmer), Craig Charles (Lister),Danny John-Jules (Cat), Norman Lovett (Holly),
Charles Augins (Queeg)
Produced & Directed by Ed Bye
TX:
BBC2 - 4th October 1988
Notes:
*Featuring Dave Lister, Arnold Rimmer, Holly and Cat