From: fraserdk@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk (David K Fraser)
Subject: script: Justice

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RED DWARF Season IV Episode 3, "Justice"

1 Int. Medical unit. Morning.

LISTER is in the medical bed. His head is swollen to the size and shape
of the Mekon's. KRYTEN wheels in a breakfast trolley.

KRYTEN: How are you feeling, sir?
LISTER: (Weakly) Ohhh, much better, thanks, man.
KRYTEN: You certainly look better. I can't believe how much the swelling
has gone down overnight.
LISTER: You reckon?
KRYTEN: Definitely. It was almost interfering with the ceiling fan
yesterday afternoon. You're nearly back to your old self. In fact,
you can hardly tell you've got space mumps at all.
LISTER: Can I have a mirror?

KRYTEN takes out enormous head-measuring device.

KRYTEN: I don't think you're quite ready for a mirror yet, sir. Let's
take it one step at a time.

Measures LISTER's head.

KRYTEN: What did I tell you? It's gone down eight inches overnight.
You'll be up and about in no time.
LISTER: I don't know what I would have done without you this last three
weeks. Florence Nightingdroid. Did you bring me breakfast?
KRYTEN: Yes, sir. Hot lager with croutons, just the way you asked.

LISTER lifts the lid of the soup bowl and starts to spoon up the lager.

LISTER: Well, you certainly find out who your mates are when you 've got
an unsightly, disfiguring ailment.
KRYTEN: Oh, I wouldn't say "unsightly," sir.
LISTER: Oh, come on, Kryten. I've got a head like a hot-air balloon. I
look like the Human Lightbulb. And how many times have they dropped in
with a word of comfort or a bunch of grapes?
KRYTEN: It's just not been possible, sir. Mr Rimmer has been on
vacation.
LISTER: The world's most charismatic man? Where did he go?
KRYTEN: On a rambling holiday through the diesel decks. A ten-day hike
through the ship's combustion engines with two of the skutters. He
said he'd pop in later and show you the slides.
LISTER: (Worried) He didn't, did he?
KRYTEN: He's been loading the projection carousel for twenty-four hours
now.
LISTER: You've got to stop him. A slide show of the diesel decks -- that
could finish me. (Sighs.) I'd have thought the Cat might have dropped
in, though.
KRYTEN: Well, he's been a little preoccupied of late with this pod
business. (Curses himself.) Oh, srew down my diodes and call me Frank!
I wasn't supposed to mention that.
LISTER: What pod?
KRYTEN: Sir, you're not well -- just forget I mentioned it.
LISTER: Come on, what pod?
KRYTEN: Yesterday evening we came across an escape pod floating in the
local asteroid belt. It contains the survivor of some space crash,
apparently cryogenically frozen.
LISTER: Oh, yeah?
KRYTEN: All the signs are she's in suitable condition for revival.
LISTER: She?
KRYTEN: As far as we can tell, she's a she.
LISTER: Oh that's great, isn't it? That's just typical. The first
female company in three million years, and I look like something that
belongs up a whale's nose.

LISTER gets up.

KRYTEN: You can't get up, sir. What are you doing?
LISTER: There's a woman on board -- what d'you think I'm doing? I'm on
the cop.

2 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.

Space-worn escape pod, just large enough for a person. LISTER is
examining the pod.

LISTER: (Reading) "Barbra Bellini." What a beautiful name. There's no
justice. How could this happen to me?

CAT comes in.

LISTER: Maybe I could wear a turban and pretend I'm from India.
CAT: Maybe you could stick a spike in your head and pretend you're the
Taj Mahal.
LISTER: Oh, it's you. Well, thanks for visiting me. Thanks a lot.
CAT: You know what you look like? You could go out double-dating with
the Elephant Man, and he would be the looker.
LISTER: (Examining pod) Why isn't it activated? How come no one's
started the thaw process?
CAT: What? I thought Alphabet Head did it.

CAT presses a few buttons on the keypad, and lights begin to glow. On
the pod the display reads "29 hrs 59 mins 57 secs to revival" and the
seconds count down.

LISTER: So who is she? Where did she come from?
CAT: (Caressing pod) Who cares? At last -- a date.
LISTER: Who says she's going to be interested in you?
CAT: I see what you're saying. All that time alone in Deep Space could
have driven her insane.
LISTER: No. Say she's just an ordinary woman who doesn't go for your
type.
CAT: No -- I'd have heard about her. She'd have appeared in Ripley's
Believe It or Not.
LISTER: Say she prefers someone else?
CAT: Like who?
LISTER: I dunno. Like me?
CAT: (Smiles) Buddy, you've got a head like a watermelon. What are you
going to do? Paint it with orange and black stripes and tell her you
play quarterback with the Bengals?
LISTER: I just think you're a bit cocky for a guy who's never actually
met a real woman before.
CAT: I've seen mirrors. I have eyes. Face it, buddy -- I have a body
that makes men sweat. Have you ever heard of an animal called the
Iranian jerd? it can do 150 pelvic thrusts a second.
LISTER: So?
CAT: That's me in slo-mo. Put a Black and Decker drill on the end, I can
make it through walls.

RIMMER enters with KRYTEN.

RIMMER: Listy, what are you doing up? Shouldn't you be in the greenhouse
with the rest of the cantaloupes? (Notices pod.) Who started the
R.P.?!
CAT: What's the problem? She's in there, let's get her out.
RIMMER: The problem, pussycat Willum, is this capsule was ejected from a
prison ship, on which the convicts mutinied. There was a pitched
battle, with only two survivors: one prisoner and one guard -- the
erstwhile Ms Bellini. One of those two got into this pod and escaped.
But, of course, you'll know all this, having familiarised yourself
thoroughly with the black-box recording.
LISTER: So, if it's not Bellini in there, who is it?
RIMMER: One of the prisoners. And considering the ship was transporting
forty psychotic, half-crazed, mass-murdering, super-strong androids, we
thought it prudent to find out who the smeg was in there before we woke
them up.
KRYTEN: With respect, sir, they're not androids. They're simulants.
CAT: What's the difference?
KRYTEN: Well, the basic difference is that an android would never rip off
a human's head and spit down his neck.
LISTER: Can we stop it, Hol?
HOLLY: No. One-way process.
LISTER: Can't we find out who's inside by x-raying the pod?
HOLLY: No. Lead lining. Has to survive in space.
LISTER: there must be some way.
HOLLY: Oh, there is: all you have to do is hang around here for twenty-
four hours. Then, if you suddenly turn round and find your limbs are
scattered around Deep Space and your necks are full of saliva, you can
take it as read it probably wasn't Babs.
CAT: Why not tool up with bazookoids, wait for the pod to open, and if
it's one of these bad-ass android dudes, let it eat laser?
KRYTEN: {Simulant}s are almost indestructible, sir. It could easily
withstand a volley of bazookoid fire at close range. It would
certainly survive long enough to make balloon animals out of your lower
intestines.
RIMMER: Well, I see no other option. Let's blast it back into space.
LISTER: Say it isn't a simulant? We can't just shoot an innocent woman
into space.
CAT: What a dilemma! Inside that pod is either death or a date.
Personally, I'm prepared to take the risk.
RIMMER: Meanwhile, the pod is defrosting, and we still haven't decided
what to do. Any ideas, Holly?
HOLLY: Here's a possibility: the black box contains the coordinates of
the penal colony the prison ship was heading for. There are bound to
be facilities there to contain any hostile form. If it turns out to be
Bellini, we release her. If it 's the simulant, we can bung him in a
cell and leave him to rot.
RIMMER: If the colony's still there, and if it's still operational.
KRYTEN: There's an old android saying, which, I believe,has particular
relevance here. Goes like this: "If you don't gosub a program loop,
you'll never get a subroutine."
LISTER: We have a human saying that means the same thing: nothing
ventured, nothing gained.
KRYTEN: I think the android one is punchier.

3 Model shot. Starbug in space.

4 Int. Starbug cockpit section.

The CAT is piloting. LISTER is beside him, still with his swollen head.

CAT: You have to sit up here?
LISTER: It's warmer in the front. Seems to help my gunge.
CAT: I can't see anything. You're head keeps getting in the way of the
mirror. In fact, your head keeps on getting in the way of the
windscreen.

From the rear section we hear:

RIMMER: (VO) Next! Ah, now, this one...

5 Int. Starbug rear section.

Blank screen. Shot of RIMMER in hiking gear, standing next to an
incredibly boring piece of machinery with a Skutter, slides into view.

RIMMER: We reached this beauty on the evening of the fourth day. The
Cameron-Mackintosh forty-valve, air-cooled diesel -- the 184 -- it's
almost identical to the 179, but have you noticed the difference? Can
you see the refinement in the funnel edgings?

Reaction: KRYTEN watching, obviously in pain.

RIMMER: I thought: we're not going to get another chance to see one of
these, so we bivouacked down under the fuel pump for the night.
There's a funny story about that, which I'll tell you later. But we're
not going to get to any of the class fives unless we push along. Next!

Another slide.

KRYTEN: Sir, can we just take a break for a while? My intelligence
circuits appear to have melted.
RIMMER: Well, we're not going to get through them all if we have a second
break.
KRYTEN: Sir, that's a gamble I'm willing to take.

From the front section we hear a sort of soggy explosion. There is a
pause.

CAT: (Revolted) Oh my godddd!
LISTER: Ah! That's better.

CAT staggers in, covered in yellow slime.

CAT: His... head... burst!

LISTER wanders in behind him. His hair is all matted, and skin is
dangling from his head. He tears off a bit and grins amiably.

LISTER: Oh, man, that is so much better. I feel great. Talk about a
weight off your mind.
CAT: I don't want to live. Someone, please. Shoot me in the head.

6 Model shot.

Penal colony space station. Starbug approaching. Typist's note: The
space station is a nice example of humour in the special effects
department. Imagine a pair of scales (a traditional symbol of law and
order) about a mile wide and made out of silvery metal...

7 Int. Starbug cockpit.

Everyone is crowded around LISTER, seated in drive seat.

LISTER: Anything down there, Hol?
HOLLY: No life forms, not according to heat scan.
KRYTEN: Any mechanical intelligence?
HOLLY: Yes, the mainframe's still operational. Just initiating
interface. Hang about. Here we go. Getting a message.

HOLLY's voice changes to deep, husky male.

JUSTICE: Welcome to Justice World. Please state your clearance code and
prison officer ident.
LISTER: We're not a prison ship. We don't have a clearance code. We
just want to use your facilities.
JUSTICE: State Life-form inventory.
RIMMER: Four: one hologram, one mechanoid, two humanoid.
JUSTICE: Transfer ship navicomp to my jurisdiction.

LISTER flips a switch.

JUSTICE: On landing, please disembark and proceed through neutral area to
the clearance zone.

8 Model shot.

Starbug swoops towards the colony.

9 Int. Corridor on colony.

CAT, KRYTEN, RIMMER and LISTER walk along derilict corridor. Sign on
wall reads "Neutral Area."

JUSTICE: (Over) Until you are granted a clearance code, please observe
all security requirements. Your party will be met by a consgnment of
escort boots.

They exchange glances. From around the corner, four pairs of disembodied
boots walk down the corridor towards them. The boots look like metal
versions of concrete boots. Electronic lights decorate them. The boots
walk up to them, split open.

JUSTICE: Please step into the boots.

LISTER stands inside one pair of the boots, and they close around his
feet. The CAT steps into his boots.

CAT: I'm supposed to wear these? They look like Frankenstein's hand-me-
downs. You haven't got anything with a cuban heel or a crepe sole?
RIMMER: I can't use these -- I'm a hologram.
JUSTICE: That has been accounted for.

RIMMER and KRYTEN step into their boots.

LISTER: Now what?

The boots light up, and all four of them lurch forward as the boots
escort them down the corridor, in a variety of funny walks.

10 Int. Another corridor on Justice World.

They file down a corridor. Each of them pauses under a cone of blue
light.

LISTER: What's this?
KRYTEN: Relax, sir. It's just a mind-probe.

And the boots lead them on.

11 Int. Clearance Zone.

The boots escort them into the middle of the room.

LISTER: What's a mind-probe?
KRYTEN: The computer was merely searching our minds -- presumably for any
evidence of criminal activity.
LISTER: Whu-what d'you mean, "criminal activity?"
KRYTEN: I shouldn't worry, sir. It's just a routine clearance procedure.
LISTER: So when you say "criminal activity," whu-whu-what exactly do you
mean by "criminal activity?" How criminal do you mean by "criminal?"
RIMMER: What are you bleating on about, Lister?
LISTER: Just define "criminal activity" for me.
KRYTEN: Well, imagine a situation where someone had commited a crime and
concealed it from the law, the mind-probe would be able to uncover that
crime and sentence the person accordingly.
LISTER: Why didn't nobody tell me about this before we put the smegging
boots on?
RIMMER: Oh, Listy, Listy. Is that a small sewage plant you're carrying
in your trousers, or do I detect you're a tad concerned?
LISTER: Well, come on, guys -- everyone has done something in their past
that's a little bit illegal.
RIMMER: I haven't. I've never so much as got a parking fine.
LISTER: Yeah, but most people...I mean, everyone I knew...Aw, smeggin'
hell.
CAT: So what did you do?
LISTER: Well, I mean, like scrumping. I mean, when I was a kid, back in
Liverpool, we all used to go scrumping.
KRYTEN: Stealing apples? That's hardly a crime.
LISTER: Yeah, but me and me mates -- we went scrumping for cars.
RIMMER: Did you get caught?
LISTER: All the time. I was stupid.
KRYTEN: Well, that's no problem then. You've served your punishment.
LISTER: Yeah, but there was other stuff as a kid. Stuff I didn't get
caught for.
RIMMER: Like what?
LISTER: There was one time at this hotel...
KRYTEN: Oh, lots of people take towels from hotels.
LISTER: I took the bed. Winched it out of the window to my mate outside.
I was renting this flat. It was unfurnished.
RIMMER: So you went to a hotel and stole the bed?
LISTER: I stole the entire room, actually. Armchair, dressing-table,
carpet. Even the fitted wardrobe. The only thing I didn't take were
the towels. I'm not proud of it.
RIMMER: Absolutely despicable. You are a common thief.
LISTER: I'm not making excuses, but everyone was doing it. I wasn't
strong enough to go against the flow.
CAT: Well, I wouldn't like to be in your boots right now, buddy.
LISTER: What's going to happen to me?
KRYTEN: I wouldn't worry anout it, sir. I'm sure they're not interested
in a minor misdemeanour you committed as an adolescent over three
million years ago.
LISTER: Seriously, Kryten: you reckon?
KRYTEN: (Brightens) Boy, I'm really getting the hang of this "lie mode."
That was totally convincing, wasn't it?
JUSTICE: The mechanoid Kryten: clearance granted. You are free to go
about the complex.

KRYTEN's boots release him. He steps free.

JUSTICE: The creature known as Cat: clearance granted.

The CAT's boots release him.

JUSTICE: The human known as Lister: despite a number of petty criminal
acts: clearance granted.

LISTER closes his eyes. We hear boots release him.

JUSTICE: The hologrram known as Rimmer. Guilty of second-degree murder.
One thousand, one hundred and sixty-seven counts.
RIMMER: No...There's some mistake, surely...
JUSTICE: Each count carries a statuatory penalty of eight years penal
servitude. In the light od your hologrammatic status, these sentences
are to be seved consecutively, making a total sentence of nine
thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight years.
RIMMER: I've never so much as returned a library book late. Second-
degree murder? A thousand people? I would have remembered.
JUSTICE: Your wilful negligence in failing to reseal a drive plate
resulted in the deaths of the entire crew of the Jupiter Mining
Corporation vessel the Red Dwarf.
RIMMER: (Pause.) Oh, that.
JUSTICE: Sentence to commence immediately.

RIMMER's boots light up, and he is frogmarched out of the room.

12 Int. Another corridor on the colony.

RIMMER is being marched along in his escort boots. He passes under a
strange archway bathed in a strange light.

JUSTICE: You are now leaving the Neutral Area and entering the Justice
Zone. Beyond this point, it is impossible to commit any act of
injustice.
RIMMER: (Quietly) Help.

13 Model shot. Justice World.

14 Int. Rimmer's apartment. Day.

A white room -- fairly spartan, but it certainly doesn't look like a
prison cell. Bed, table, etc. RIMMER is sitting forlornly on the bed in
some futuristic prison garb. LISTER comes in.

LISTER: Hi, Killer.
RIMMER: Nine thousand years. Nine!
LISTER: I brought you a book.

LISTER tosses book on bed.

RIMMER: Oh, thanks. That'll help the centuries fly past.
LISTER: Look, don't panic, man. We're going to get you out of here.
RIMMER: Why bother? I'll be up for parole in a couple of Ice Ages.
LISTER: Kryten reckons you've got right of appeal. He's trying to get a
case together. (Looks round.) This isn't a bad place for a prison.
How come there are no locks or bars or guards or anything?
RIMMER: There doesn't need to be. The whole prison is covered by
something called a Justice Field. I had to sit through this lecture.
Apparently it's physically impossible to commit any kind of crime here.
LISTER: What d'you mean?
RIMMER: Try and commit a crime. You'll see.
LISTER: Like what?
RIMMER: I don't know. Anything...Arson. Try and set fire to those
blankets.
LISTER: Eh?
RIMMER: Just try it.

LISTER crosses to the blankets, takes out his Zippo and holds the flame
under the blanket. The blanket doesn't ignite, but LISTER's jacket
starts smoking at the back without him realizing it.

RIMMER: Whatever crime you try and commit, the consequences happen to
you.
LISTER: I'm not with you.

Feels the heat from the back of his flaming jacket.

LISTER: Smegging hell!

Takes his jacket off and jumps up and down on it.

LISTER: Nice example, Rimmer! You couldn't just have explained that to
me verbally?
RIMMER: Same with stealing. Same with everything.
LISTER: With you. So if you nick something, something of yours goes
missing?
RIMMER: Right. Try it.
LISTER: (Pause while he thinks about it.) No.
RIMMER: See? It's the perfect system. It forces the inmates to adhere
to the law. And when they get out, it's become second nature.

KRYTEN enters, followed by the CAT.

KRYTEN: Good news. The Justice Computer has sanctioned a re-trial. I
think we have a very strong case.
RIMMER: You do?
KRYTEN: It's a question of differentiating between guilt and culpability,
sir. What the mind-probe detected was your own sense of guilt about
the accident. In a way, you tried and convicted yourself. I simply
have to establish you're a neurotic, under-achieving emotional retard
whose ambition far outstrips his miniscule abilities and who
consequently blames himself for an accident for which he could not
possibly have been responsible.
RIMMER: You're going to try to prove that I was innocent of negligence on
the grounds that I'm a half-witted incompetent?
CAT: Man, there ain't a jury in the land that won't buy a plea like that.
KRYTEN: Not a half-wit, exactly -- more a buffoon.
RIMMER: (Thinks about it. He's quite impressed.) Right, I see. But how
would you even begin to build such a case? Where would you conjure up
the evidence?
KRYTEN: Sir, providing I can have completely free access to your personal
data files, I think I can come up with the outline of a winning case by
lunchtime.

15 Model shot.

Starbug at rest in the Justice World landing bay. Mix to:

16 Int. Clearance zone. Day.

LISTER and CAT look on. RIMMER is seated in his dress uniform with long-
service medals. KRYTEN addresses the court.

KRYTEN: The mind-probe was created to detect guilt, yet in the case of
Arnold Judas Rimmer the guilt it detected attaches to no crime. He
held a position of little or no authority on Red Dwarf. He was a lowly
grease-monkey, a nothing, a piece of sputum floating in the toilet bowl
of life.

Shot: RIMMER, unsure how to react.

KRYTEN: Yet he could never come to terms with a lifetime of under-
achievement. His absurdly inflated ego would never permit it. He's
like the security guard on the front gate who considers himself head of
the corporation. So, when the crew were wiped out by a nuclear
accident, Arnold Rimmer accepted the blame: it was his ship, ergo his
fault. I ask the court: look at this man. This man who sat and
failed his astronavigation exam on no less than thirteen occasions.
This sad man, this pathetic man, this joke of a man...
RIMMER: (Discreetly) Kryten. You're going over the top. The computer
will never buy it.
KRYTEN: Trust me, sir. My whole case hinges on proving you're a dork.
RIMMER: (Reluctantly) Understood.
KRYTEN: (Aloud) I call my first witness.

LISTER crosses to stand, wearing some sort of apology for a tie.

KRYTEN: Name?
LISTER: Dave Lister.
KRYTEN: Occupation?
LISTER: (Thinks about it. Shrugs.) Bum.
KRYTEN: Would you desribe the accused as a friend?
CAT: (Calls) Take the Fifth!
KRYTEN: Answer the question, please. Remember, you're under polygraphic
surveillance. Would you describe the accused as a friend?
LISTER: No, I would describe the accused as a git.
KRYTEN: Who would you say, then, is the person who thinks of him most
fondly?
LISTER: (Thinks about it, and answers truthfully) Me.
KRYTEN: And there are no others who've shared moments of intimacy with
him?
LISTER: Only one. But she's got a puncture.
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Overruled.
KRYTEN: So you wouldn't describe him as a man with a good social life?
LISTER: He partied less than Rudolf Hess. He was totally dedicated to
his career. He was in charge of Z shift, and it occupied his every
waking moment.
KRYTEN: And what was Z shif's most important duty?
LISTER: Well, we had lots of duties around the ship, but I suppose our
most vital responsibility was making sure the vending machines didn't
run out of fun-size Munchie Bars.
KRYTEN: Can you envisage a situation where the lack of honeycomb-centered
chocolate bars might be the direct cause of a lethal radiation leak?
LISTER: Not off the top of my head, no.
KRYTEN: (Turns) I ask the court one key question: would the Space Corps
have allowed this man (Poits at RIMMER) ever to be in a position where
he might endanger the ship? A man so petty and small-minded he would
while away his evenings sewing name labels on to his ship-issue
condoms? A man of such awsome stupidity...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Objection overruled.
KRYTEN: A man of such awsome stupidity, he even objects to his own
defence counsel. An over-zealous, trumped up little squirt...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: Overruled.
KRYTEN: An incompetent vending-machine repairman with a Napoleon complex,
who commanded as much respect and affection from his fellow crew
members as Long John Silver's parrot...
RIMMER: Objection.
JUSTICE: If you object to your own counsel once more, Mr Rimmer, you'll
be in contempt.
KRYTEN: Who would put this man, this joke of a man, a man who couldn't
outwit a used tea bag, in a position of authority where he could wipe
out an entire crew? Who? Only a yoghurt. This man is not guilty of
manslaughter. He's only guilty of being Arnold J. Rimmer. That is
his crime. It is also his punishment. Defence rests.

He sits down next to RIMMER, and stares fixidly ahead. RIMMER shoots him
a little look, not quite sure what to think.

JUSTICE: The defendant will stand for the verdict.

RIMMER stands.

JUSTICE: In the view of your counsel's eloquent defence, together with
the reams of material evidence he submitted on computer card, this
court accepts that, in your case, the mind-probe is not anadequate
method of assessing guilt. It is not possible for you to have
committed the crimes for which you blame yourself, and you may
therefore go free.
RIMMER: Objection!
KRYTEN: Sir, what are you objecting to?
RIMMER: I want an apology.

17 Int. Starbug rear.

KRYTEN and RIMMER come up the ramp, followed by LISTER and CAT.

RIMMER: Brilliant, Kryten. What can I say. You were brilliant. You
even had me believing it. The way you twisted the facts to make them
seem to fit that pattern.
CAT: Come on, let's get out of here. I don't know what made us want to
come to this hell-hole in the first place.
LISTER: I do.

They all look at the pod. It is open. And it's empty.

CAT: (Smiles) CAn I smell perfume?

The SIMULANT lurches into the doorway from the cockpit area, brandishing
a bazookoid and an evil-looking handgun.

SIMULANT: I doubt it.

LISTER grabs a bazookoid by the door and starts backing out.

CAT: Are you by any chance Barbra Bellini? I didn't think so.

18 Int. Corridor on colony.

Red Dwarf crew fleeing down corridor.

CAT: To think I carressed his pod!

They leap over the escort boots and run on.

19 Same corridor on colony.

The SIMULANT running along. A pair of escort boots shuffles towards him.
He blasts the left one. The right boot turns and starts hopping for its
life. The SIMULANT takes careful aim and blasts it in the back of the
heel

20 Int. Another corridor on the colony.

The CREW race under the archway bathed in strange light.

JUSTICE: You are now entering the Justice Zone. Beyond this point, it is
impossible to commit any act of injustice.

LISTER and RIMMER dash off one way, CAT and KRYTEN go the other.

21 Int. Corridor on colony.

SIMULANT walking along, looking for them.

SIMULANT: Hey, my friends, I don't want any trouble. I just want your
space craft. Give me the start-up code. Look! (Holds up his gun.) I
have no weapon. (Throws gun aside.)

22 Int.

Cut to: RIMMER and LISTER on metal walkway. As he walks under them
LISTER has the SIMULANT in his sights.

RIMMER: What are you waiting for? Gloop him.
LISTER: I can't. He's not armed.
RIMMER: Lister, this isn't a Scout meeting. We're not trying to win the
Best- Behaved Troop flag. Gloop him.
LISTER: What? In the back?
RIMMER: Of course in the back. It's only a pity he's awake.
LISTER: You mean you could happily kill him if he was asleep?
RIMMER: I could happily kill him if he was on the job. Gloop him.
LISTER: It's immoral.
SIMULANT: Come on, you wouldn't shoot an unarmed droid. Come out and
let's discuss it.

LISTER sets aside his gun.

LISTER: I'm going to talk to him.

23 Int. Metal gangway.

SIMULANT stands, unarmed, as LISTER drops into shot.

LISTER: You want to talk? Let's talk.
SIMULANT: You have no weapon?
LISTER: No. You have no weapon?
SIMULANT: No.

They walk towards each other.

SIMULANT: Guess what? (Pulls out hunting knife.) I lied.
LISTER: Guess what? (Allows pole to slide from the arm of his jacket.)
So did I.
SIMULANT: But I lied twice. (Pulls out a handgun.)
LISTER: I didn't think of that.
SIMULANT: I'm very glad you didn't.
LISTER: What did you want to talk about?
SIMULANT: Your death. (Cocks the gun.) Your imminent death.

Fires at LISTER's chest. LISTER looks down at his chest. There's no
wound. The SIMULANT fires ahain. Still no wound. And again. No wound.
Suddenly three bullet wounds appear in the SIMULANT's chest. He staggers
forwards, bewildered. LISTER hits the SIMULANT over the head with his
pole. Then LISTER reels back, dazed and half-conscious and falls to his
knees. The SIMULANT fires again. Another bullet wound appears in the
SIMULANT's body, this time in his shoulder. LISTER staggers to his feet,
swings the club again, sideways, catching the SIMULANT in the midriff,
but it's LISTER who feels the impact of the blow and flies out of shot.
He is lying in a crumpled heap.

LISTER: What the smeg is going on?

The SIMULANT looks at his gun, casts it aside. Staggers a bit. Takes
out the knife again and hurls it at LISTER. The dagger appears in the
SIMULANT's chest. He pulls it out, slightly bemused, and hurls it at
LISTER again. This time, it appears in the SIMULANT's head. LISTER
grins. Enlightenment spreads over his features. He grabs a nearby
bottle and hands it to the staggering SIMULANT.

SIMULANT: Zzzzzt. Does not compute. Zzzzzt. Error. Zzzzzt.
Malfunction.

SIMULANT smashes it over LISTER's head. The SIMULANT staggers and shakes
his head. LISTER hands more bottles to the SIMULANT, who smashes them
over LISTER's head, staggering and growling with each blow. Finally,
LISTER grabs the SIMULANT's hands, puts them around his neck, and the
SIMULANT tries to throttle him but, obviously, is really strangling
himself. Nearly choking to death, he releases his grip and staggers
back. LISTER takes out an indelible pen and marks a target on his groin.
He walks towards the almost beaten SIMULANT, thrusting his groin forward
as he goes. The SIMULANT kicks LISTER in the groin. LISTER stands
there, grinning, as the SIMULANT flies backwards and collapses into a
defeated heap. The CAT runs up brandishing a huge snow shovel.

CAT: I've got him, buddy. Leave this to me.
LISTER: Cat! No!
CAT: Better late than never.

CAT raises the shovel high over his head, and slams the SIMULANT over the
head. The CAT laughs triumphantly. Suddenly, the smile freezes on his
face, and he falls backwards out of shot.

24 Model shot. Starbug landing in Red Dwarf cargo bay.

25 Int. Red Dwarf corridor. Day.

LISTER, RIMMER, KRYTEN and CAT, walking back.

LISTER: Makes you think, doesn't it? Mankind's history has been one long
search for justice. That's what all religions are about: they accept
life as being basically unfair but promise everyone will get their just
deserts later: heaven, hell, karma, reincarnation, whatever. Those
guys who built the penal colony tried to give some order to the
universe by creating the Justice Field. But when you're living in an
enviroment where justice does exist, there's no free will. That's why
in our universe there can never be true, eternal justice -- good things
will happen to bad people, and bad things will happen to good people.
It's the way it's got to be. Life, by it's very nature, has to be
cruel, unkind and unfair.

LISTER falls down an open manhole cover.

CAT: Thank god for that.

CAT puts the lid on, and they walk off.


The End

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
David K Fraser | "It will be happened; it shall be going to be
Computing Science Student | happening; it will be was an event that could
Glasgow University | will have been taken place in the future."
e-mail: fraserdk@dcs.gla.ac.uk | --time travel explained by Rimmer (Red Dwarf)