SCRAMBLE, SCRAMBLE. All hands on deck, emergency drill, scramble!
Er, perhaps you didn't catch that. I said SCRAMBLE!
Yeah, that'll be great with bacon and beans, man.
Look, Starbug is a blazing inferno,
the engine room is waist deep in rocket fuel
and we're being attacked off the starboard bow by an unidentified craft!
Really?
No, of course not really. It's a drill.
We're pretending that Starbug is on fire and under attack.
And I'm pretending to scramble, man.
Look, you've got 30 seconds to get out of bed or I'm declaring you officially dead.
Good, then we can rest in peace.
Congratulations, scrambling in a red alert situation,
a new record time... 1 hour 17 minutes and 39 seconds.
Check your screens, I'm getting something up my left nostril and it's coming in fast.
Umm, scans are all negative.
At the risk of challenging your olfactory excellence sir,
perhaps a resmelling is in order.
I'm telling you bud, my nostril hairs are shimmying faster
than a grass skirt on a fat Hawaain hula hoop champion. There's something out there.
Scans still dry.
Wait a minute, getting something. Major power surge off the port bow.
He's right. Some kind of vessel. It appears to be uncloaking.
He's too damn close. That power surge'll toss us around like
we're a bead of sweat in an aerobic teacher's buttock cleavage.
Hang on here it comes.
Damage report!
Superficial, navicomps down, slight rupture in fuel pipe 9...
and somehow the pilot's headset has got jammed on the country and western channel.
Second wave coming!
What's he thinking of, warping that close to another vessel. DAMN SPACE HOG.
My god, that's a Space Corp external enforcement vehicle.
What?
The space filth!
A computer controlled enforcement probe. It's scanning us now.
Incoming.
Property corp space removing, and equipment corp space damaging,
ships corp space of series a looting with charged formerly are you.
The materialization must have scrambled it's voice unit.
It's making about as much sense as a Japanese VCR instruction manual.
Plead do you how?
It's in reverse. How_do_you_plead?
How do we plead to what?
It's charging us with looting space corp derelicts.
But we don't loot space corp derelicts.
We just hack our way in and swipe what we *need*.
If this goes to trial, I demand seperate lawyers.
What's the penalty for this?
If it means wearing outfits with arrows on, I'm committing suicide.
Er, no sir. It means wearing outfits with wings and haloes on, sir.
The penalty is execution.
Yeah. But if we admit it it'll blow us out of the stars.
Reccomendations?
Suggest I take the rap for everyone sir.
You can say I held you at gunpoint and forced you to do my evil bidding.
For god's sake, Kryten, we can't let you do that!
Really?
Dream on, metal trash. Get your hands in the air and step into that searchlight.
Minute one have you.
No choices then, we leg it. Plot a course for scarper city.
Sir, a class A enforcement orb can easily outrun us.
Take a look at your screens. We're 7 klicks away from the Gelf Zone.
It wouldn't follow us in there in a gazillion years.
No, because gelfs are untrustworthy scavengers
with no regard for life, law or property.
Right! So we'll be safe.
Lister, you've heard the stories!
They skin human beings alive and turn them into bean bags!
Unless you want a triple buttocked gelf sitting on your face
for the rest of eternity and probing your crevices for lost forks and biros,
I suggest you rethink.
It's the lesser of two evils sir, in the absence of any sane plan,
I suggest we go with Mr Lister's.
Seconds 20 in firing commence will I, reply a of absence in.
Roughly translated... Hit the reheat.
You don't have to tell me twice.
Cat man, hit the reheat!
Oh sorry. Looks like you do have to tell me twice.
Firing commence will I or halt.
In which case... boneybuts our move lets!
Close comms.
Comms closed.
Gelf zone, 6 klicks and closing.
Weapon lock registered. Pulse missile launched.
Impact in 10 seconds.
That's it. We're platform shoes, man.
Firing chaffe. Firing flares.
Brace for impact.
Missed us!
Warning shot across the bows.
We won't be so fortunate next time.
Another lock, this time it won't be a warning shot.
Incoming pulse fire.
Decoys launched.
It's not going to be enough. 6 seconds to impact.
We've got to try and shake them off.
We've lost it!
Sorry. I was looking at the wrong panel.
Damage Report!
It's bad, looks like Starbugs been hit.
Details, halibut breath!
Well according to the damage report machine,
there's several small fires in the cockpit, lots of smoke and the navicomp's fizzing.
Oh damn, now the damage report machine has exploded.
*Another* lock on!
This one's to finish us off.
How far to the Gelf Zone?
Klick and a half.
We've lost 3 fuel tanks, there's barely enough to get us stable.
Wait! I'm picking something up.
Got it, putting it on visual.
Look at that thing, it must be a mile and a half across.
A Gelf icon carved out of solid rock. It must be some kind of warning beacon.
Incoming message.
Karn nes eh ping. Wah twah morah.
Running it through the translator.
This is gelf space. Death to the strangers.
Pulse missile launch impact in 12 seconds and counting.
Cat, head for the eye socket.
The eye socket?
Just do it!
Eight seconds.
It's solid rock.
Three seconds.. two... one.
It's waist high down there, but at least I managed
to get the pumps working. 3 hours and we'll be dry.
Thrusters, boosters,reheat, auto-repair can take care of everything,
except for the oxygeneration unit which is totally kaputzki.
So you're telling me we can take off but we can't breath?
And we can't repair it?
It's a black and charred mess, worse than one of Lister's drunken fry-ups.
Well, we're snookered. Unless we go out and trade with the gelfs.
Trade? You can't be serious.
Sir, it does appear to be our only option.
I will tell them we are traders in search of an engine part
and that we have many rare treasures to trade.
Kinitawowi nhich nhichce histan kanoa nakoo bacoo.
Nuyer neeal deg dayer.
Look, look what we got. We got ehmm, swiss watches, nice watches.
Levi jeans!. Hey! A hat, look at this.
Hehehey nice hat. Cigar? Cool dude!
Err, might I suggest caution sir,
some gelfs have their sphinctral orifices in their faces.
Let's hope you haven't offended him. No, he seems quite pleased.
We need an oxygeneration unit, savvy?
Uhh, unh?
Agi gan bachwoo machuwahwah
Alees tada.
Cat, get the case man.
It seems to be going well.
What is that thing?
It's an emohawk sir. A polymorph that is spayed at birth and is half domesticated.
It's trained to change shape at it's owners behest
like all polymorphs it's an emotional leech,
it has the ability to steal emotions from living creatures.
Emotions are a highly valued trading commodity.
Ahh, the oxygeneration unit.
Looks like they are ready to fix a price.
I thought we'd already fixed a price with all the bangles and baubles we'd given them.
Oh no sir, that was just for the honour of entering their watunga, or hut.
The bartering proper begins now.
Rec raht wig dig ana tut pata.
Oh dear.
What? What, you want my hat?
Ahg nu dewka ana weg bah.
My jacket? You want my *jacket*?
No sir, he doesn't want your jacket.
He doesn't want my longjohns does he?
Not your longjohns either sir.
Well what then?
Ahg nu dewka ana weg bah.
*ME*! He wants me?
Yes sir, he says in exchange for the oxygeneration unit
he wants *you* to be his daughter's mate.
*That's* his daughter?
One of three. Apparently sir *she's* the looker.
Tell him, not if she was the last water yeti lookalike in the world
and I was the only boy.
Oh, come on, Lister, you've dated worse.
Only due to very poor disco lighting.
Ana beg ewitah og iy con nich kawal bah.
He says: no wedding, no O G unit.
Panta anag ew, panta wa ah.
Hmm yes, he's giving us 5 hanaka to decide.
How long's a hanaka?
Curiously enough it's exactly the same as one Earth minute.
Five hanaka? That only give us 28 hours!
OK, let's get out our sheet music and play the real waltz.
Sir, they are a proud people and will not change their minds
unless you are prepared to stay here and marry hackhackhack ach hachhachach.
That's her name? I could never settle down with anyone
who's name sounds like a footballer clearing his nose.
The plan is obvious. *We* do the trade, *you* go through with the wedding,
when everybody is asleep we come back and rescue you. What do you say?
Not a chance in hell!
Ana dok kaz, ana dok wah, hea.
I do.
Ana zun keh, zun keh atta.
What's he saying?
Erh, you may kiss the bride sir.
What, without a bag?
Don't be strangers guys. Seeya *soon*. Drop in *any* time, any time.
Hcanibey yech, onigon yech.
Well darling, what a day I'm pooped, straight to sleep for me.
Nee bonnen nic parnin.
Maybe in the morning, goodnight.
You've been looking forward to this, haven't you?
Nack hey.
OK, just give me a couple of minutes. I want to slip into something
a little more comfortable... it's called Starbug.
CHANGE OF PLAN LEG IT!
Wait! Somethings coming.
It's the emohawk!
What happened? Where did it go?
It must have transmuted into something else. Suggest we proceed with extreme caution.
It's somewhere close I can smell it. IT'S THE STICK! AAGH! Oh, no it's not.
Oh god, I'm so jumpy, I thought it was the stick. IT *IS* THE STICK
Where is it now?
It's gone off into the undergrowth.
Cat, you know what they're like. Stay on the case.
Don't pick anything up. Unbelievable gettimg suckered like that.
100 percent concentration at all times.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
That's it: we're airtight. Damn thing can't get in now.
And all it took was a little bit of concentration.
How long before we can go? We don't really want a visit
from Listy's in-laws demanding their wedding present back.
It'll take an hour or so to get the oxygeneration unit set up,
but suggest we take off now sir
and use emergency supplies until the O G unit's on line.
What if it doesn't work?
Then Cat and Mr Lister will choke to death.
A plan with no drawbacks.
Time we fitted that O G unit. Kryters!
I'm on my way sir.
That smell is still driving me crazy. I've gotta wash my hands. Transfering to auto.
It's stolen my cool, it's taken all my style.
I need a mirror.
I got no grace, no elan, no poise.
What's it turned me into?
Duane Dibbley? DUANE DIBBLEY! AAAH!
What is it? I heard noises.
Look what it did to me, it's turned me into Duane Dibbley, the Duke of Dork.
Oh my god, where is it?
I lost it, it came in here somewhere.
Can you smell it?
The only scent I'm getting is extra strong spot cream
and the dandruff shampoo that doesn't work.
It could be anywhere, it could be anything. Trust nothing.
It may have outsmarted you,
but it's going to have to get up pretty damn early in the AM to outsmart Arnie J.
Is that a new gun? I don't recall seeing it before.
The gun, the emohawk's the gun. God that was close.
I hope you're right, 'cos if you're not, we just flushed away our only gun.
Just leave the thinking to me, keyboard teeth.
Lister, Kryten, the cat was right. We had brought the emohawk on board,
but lucky for you guys old iron buck was around to sort it out...
that's wierd, there's something wrong with this microphone. It's not transmitting.
Are you OK sir?
It's removing my bitterness, taking my negativity, slurping out all my snidieness.
It's gone now sir, it's OK to come out.
Looks like we both bought a bite from the blighter.
Let's track it down before it harms Kryters or Dave.
I'm afraid this means death for both of us,
but that's a small price to pay to save our chummies, eh?
What a guy. Listen, before we leave I just gotta change these clothes.
If I don't get into some sideways ironed flares
and transparent plastic sandles, I swear I'll go crazy.
Do what you have to old chum. I'll go tell them we're having a party.
What was that?
The hydraulic lock sir, we're sealed in.
It won't override.
I've sealed you in the engine room, Dave.
Afraid me and the Cat have taken a bit of a nip from the emohawk.
You what? It's on board?
It's taken my bitterness and Cat's cool.
He's in a helluva shape, he's looking so geeky he probably
couldn't even get into a science fiction convention.
And the emohawk is still on the loose?
We've got it pinned down in the obs room.
Well let us in, you need all the help you can get.
No-one I'd rather have with me in a fracas, Dave, but you're the last human being alive,
old love, and frankly you're just too damn valuable to risk.
Only one way to guarantee victory for the home eleven:
I'm going to open the airlock. Suck the little perisher out into deep space.
But sir, that would also kill you and the Cat!
He won't suffer, Kryters; I'll snap his neck when he's not looking.
Won't feel a thing. Believe me, he'd want it this way.
But sir, if we could capture the creature we could extract the DNA strands
and re-inject you both. Restore your former personalities.
Too risky Krytey. Anyway, I don't think I could face becoming *him* again.
Everyone has his limits. Fellas, smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.
What a guy!
But sir, we've got to save them from themselves,
their minds are totally distorted,
the Cat's a complete yutz and Mr Rimmer's... well... *nice*.
Charge up the bazookoids. We'll blast our way in.
Ready old chum?
Just let me check. Thermos, sandwiches, corn plasters, telephone money, dandruff brush,
animal footprint chart and one triple thick condom,
you never know!
OK Duane, let's step into the airlock and get part 2 of the plan underway.
Oh, what plan is this?
Just step in there, Duane.
So, what precisely is the plan?
I think you'll find it a little more comfortable if you stand in front of me.
Why are we in this airlock?
Just relax old chum. I'm sending you on ahead.
*I'm* the scout party?
Dave, you crazy fool. We're all set to save your bacon,
there's no need for you to sling your love spuds on the barbeque.
Sir, our best chance is to tackle the emohawk together.
Yeah, one squirt of liquid dillinium,
it'll freeze it exactly where it stands in whatever shape it's in.
OK fellas, let's go.
Looks like it's lasered it's way back into the engine rooms.
Probably looking for you two gents, let's go.
According to the psi scan it's somewhere in this location.
IT'S THE BARREL! Sorry, false alarm.
That chain. IT'S MOVING! Sorry, sorry.
Sir, try and remain calm, you're experiencing
a classic knee-jerk paranoid reaction
to a terror situation, it's essential at this time that we...
IT'S THE WALL!
Shame overload. I.. I... I, sorry.
This is impossible, how can we find something
that can disguise itself as anything? How can we lure it out?
Worry ye not Davey boy, it'll strike soon enough.
Oops, I dropped my thermos.
Eh, excuse me sirs.
Gentlemen, I think we have a suspect.
I got it! I got it!
Oh, it turned into a grenade, but I got it!
Toss it away chum.
I can't throw, I throw like a geek!
Just chuck it.
It's gonna blow.
Leave this to me Davey boy.
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be... Freeze it Davey boy.
But, sir how did you know it wouldn't damage your hard light drive?
Didn't Kryters, just trying to protect you chaps.
Well sir, better get you back to normal.
Would it be possible for me to stay like this for another 24 hours
before I have to return as *that* ghastly maggot?
It's the least we can do to thank you sir.
And you, Cat, would you like to stay as Duane?
Suck my thermos! I hate being the prince of dorkness,
you never know when the next clutzy thing's going to...
Oop... What a Dibbley!