"Red Dwarf in space." "Over, we hear a terrifying, ship-rumbling snore." "Then..." "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" "Interior, sleeping quarters, morning." "The snore stutters and continues." "A deranged-looking Lister pulls out a flare gun, checks it's loaded, and holds it to his head." "One of us has got to go." "Close-up, Lister's mad eyes staring." "Mix to:" "model shot, Red Dwarf in space." "Caption, "Six days earlier."" "Interior, sleeping quarters, morning." "Lister is asleep in the armchair." "Emergency, emergency." "Will all crew please proceed to General Assembly 4?" "This is a Class A emergency." "Lister wakes and jumps out of the chair." "He steps into a foil curry carton, slips, staggers up and hops out of the room." "Interior, ship corridor, morning." "Lister, half hopping, half running, as he tries to remove the curry carton from his foot without slowing down." "Interior, Refectory, morning." "Rimmer is standing at the head table." "Lister enters, finally removes the curry carton and sits." "Okay, let's get this show on the road." "As you all know, we've had a Cadmium 2 accident, and the leak has resulted in the death of many of our colleagues." "As Senior Officer Apparent, it falls to me to establish the exact extent of the casualties." "Wide shot." "The Refectory is, of course, utterly empty." "Except for Rimmer and Lister." "What are you doing, Rimmer?" "Please, there will be ample time for questions after roll call." "If everybody starts butting in every five seconds, we'll never get anywhere." "We have to do this by the book." "Bear with me." "He looks down at the clipboard and reads." "Ackenback?" "He looks up expectedly." "Lister looks around, utterly baffled." "Rimmer shakes his head sadly." "Allender?" "He looks up again." "Yes, he is going to go through the entire crew." "They're all dead, Rimmer." "Everybody's dead except me." "Shh." "Quiet at the back, there." "Appleford?" "Present." "Look, Lister, accident or no accident, this ship carries on as always." "And yes, it may well emerge that you are, indeed, the only survivor, but we do things by the book." "And the book says we hold a roll call." "Then the book says we organize a search party." "Then the books says we inform the relatives." "What book is this, Rimmer?" "The Whacked-Out People's Book of Crazy Things to Do?" "If you don't have order, if you don't have rules and discipline, if you don't have structure and regulations, what are you left with?" "Fun?" "He walks out." "Hold it right there, sonny." "Right there." "Right..." "Lister has gone." "Rimmer shakes his head." "There's always one." "Interior, ship corridor, morning." "Cat, ambling along, looking immaculate." "All mine, mine, all this is mine." "From here to here, that's mine." "This is mine, and this, all this is mine, except for that." "He hops over a section of floor." "Don't want that bit." "But this, now this is mine." "Hey, this has been a good day." "I've eaten six times," "I've slept five times, I beat up a ball of wool and I made a lot of things mine!" "Tomorrow, I'm going to see if I can't have sex with something." "Rimmer rounds the corner, muttering darkly to himself." "Uh-oh, better make myself look big." "He draws up his shoulders and stands on tiptoe." "Not big enough, more teeth." "Yeah!" "Rimmer adopts his pathetic fake karate stance." "Ha!" "You are obstructing a senior JMC officer in pursuit of his vital duty, buster." "I'm giving you five to move." "One, two, three, four," "five." "Six." "Seven." "Seriously, this is not an idle threat." "Eight." "Nine." "Wait, was that an awooga siren, Holly?" "No, Arnold." "I think you'll find that was definitely a Class A emergency awooga siren." "You survive this encounter, you feline freak." "You won't be so lucky next time." "Fearsome." "I was fe-ar-some." "Now, sex." "Interior, Drive Room, morning." "Holly, can you link into Ship Lib 5, and give me a full-screen punch-up of CARMMLT475?" "Okay, Dave." "Lister sits, feet up on console, removes his sock, and wrings it into the curry carton as Rimmer enters." "On the screen, complex planetary diagrams are replaced by the madly juvenile opening titles of a Mugs Murphy cartoon." "Off." "On." "Off!" "On." "Off!" "On!" "Off!" "Off!" "Off!" "Destroy!" "Erase!" "Eliminate!" "The cartoon flares up and melts." "The screen goes dead." "Nice one, Rimmer." "Put yourself in my situation." "I am dead." "I am a hologram." "I am a computer-generated ghost." "Just imagine, imagine, imagine what that feels like." "Lister thinks." "He softens." "Okay." "Yeah." "It must feel... awful?" "Awful?" "Awful is when your mother loses three toes in a combine harvester accident." "Awful is when you're fumbling with your date in the back of your car and you discover she's got testicles." "I'm talking about death, Lister." "My death, which is the worst kind." "Rimmer, what do you want me to say?" "It happens, suck it up." "Suck it up?" "I didn't fall off my bicycle and graze my knee, Lister." "I died in a very horrible nuclear explosion." "You can't put a little pink Band-Aid on that and kiss it better, matey-pie." "You don't know." "Nobody knows!" "People who say they're not afraid of death, they're never the ones who've actually done it." "Look," "Rimmer, it's a big ship, five miles long and three miles wide, drop in Christmas Day, you'll be very welcome for three minutes." "You don't understand, do you?" "You don't get it." "You need me." "Need you?" "Holly has the facility to produce just one hologram." "Of the entire crew of 169 men and women, the one person he chose to bring back, he, in his super-intelligent, IQ of 6,000 wisdom, was me." "What's the ruling again, Holly, you genius?" "The person selected to return as a hologram shall be the most vital to the continued well-being of the ship, the mission and the surviving crew." "And just to remind us all once again, who, in your magnificent, unquestionable, super-mind, is most vital?" "You, Arnold." "Yes, me." "Rimmer does a little jig." "Me." "Me." "Not any of those good-looking, twinkle-toothed, over-privileged, academy-educated geeks, who know precisely which knife and fork to eat a stinking artichoke with, with their gentlemen's club smugness and their Masonic handshaking arrogance, with their upper-class, inbred, golly-gosh, self-satisfiedocity." "Me, me, who didn't have exam technique." "Me, whose parents had to scrimp and save for everything, which is why I was 19 before I got my first super-spy, look-round-corners telescope." "Me, who couldn't ooze effortless charm out of my hoity-toity backside." "Me, Arnold Two-Pips-and-That's-As-Far As-You're-Gonna-Go-Mate Rimmer." "That's who Holly chose, me!" "Me!" "The reason you hated those academy guys so much was because you wanted to be one of them." "Why would I want to be one of them?" "They're despicable, magnificent beasts who look down on us." "They don't look down on us." "It's you who looks down on us." "Lister finishes wringing his curried sock into the silver container." "Of course they look down on us!" "We're scum, we're the flotsam of life." "Hey," "I'm not the flotsam of life." "Lister drinks the curried sock juice with genuine joy." "Okay, maybe I am the flotsam of life." "But upper-class flotsam, you know what I'm saying?" "The cream de la cream of flotsam." "The phrase is "crème de la crème", you goit." "How would I know that?" "I'm flotsam." "You're not coping." "You haven't come to terms with what you've lost." "I know what I've lost." "Everything." "Friends, lovers." "For all we know, the planet Earth doesn't exist any more." "No more trees, no more birds, no more human race." "All right, there's no need to whine about it." "We're all having a bad time." "I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I happen to be dead." "Let's discuss this again over Christmas dinner." "We need to formulate some kind of plan, you smegwit." "We've got a plan." "Go back to Earth, see if it's still there." "Well, considering that might take, given our current speed, allowing for spatial drift and cosmic drag, somewhere around 3 million years, what are we going to do in the meantime?" "What is there to do?" "Plenty." "We have to hold a full inventory, run a thorough, ship-wide diagnostic, clear the chicken soup nozzles on Deck 97..." "I have to admit, Rimmer," "I'm having second thoughts about Christmas." "Fine," "I don't need you, Lister." "I don't need anyone." "Give it a few days, we'll find out pretty damn quick just who needs who around this place." "Interior, Teaching Room, day." "Rimmer is addressing two scutters who are on the large desk in front of him." "One of the scutters has a pen in its claw." "Right, and slowly this time, start at the bottom." "The scutter lowers the pen onto a large piece of paper on the desk." "Now, up at an angle of 45 degrees." "Slower." "Stop!" "Stop!" "Stop!" "Right." "Go back." "Not that way." "Look, lift up." "Lift the pen up, up!" "Right, now back." "To me." "Right, stop." "Stop." "Put the pen on the paper." "Now, back at an angle of 45 degrees." "Not the same way, the other 45 degrees." "No, that way!" "He points." "Go that way, towards the door." "Stop." "He addresses the observing scutter." "Are you paying attention?" "I'm not going through this twice." "Back to the writer." "Go back and join the two lines with a horizontal line." "All right then, a vertical line." "Whatever." "Stop!" "Now, that, my metal friends, is the letter "A"." "No, it's not." "It's a wretched, dismal mess." "Why don't you listen to..." "Hit him." "The observer scutter twists its claw askance." "You heard me, hit the dozy bastard." "Not that hard!" "Hit him back." "Now you've broken him!" "Marvellous!" "Well, you..." "Well, you better repair him, and when you've done that, I'll get him to hit you." "What is wrong with you two?" "I'm trying to teach you the alphabet to give you the benefit of an education." "All the advantages I never had." "And what do you give me in return?" "A deranged origami monstrosity, that looks like Jackson Pollock's toilet paper after a bad night on the curry." "The remaining scutter hangs its claw." "We're on a schedule here, people." "In eight weeks' time, you're supposed to have mastered all the biochemical sciences, including genetic engineering, advanced microsurgery, and reconstructive neurology." "Yet, here we are, halfway through the project, and you're still struggling with the letter "A"." "Do you want to spend the rest of your miserable lives as service droids, polishing floors, sweeping up and twiddling sonic screwdrivers?" "The scutter nods happily." "Of course you don't." "All right." "Fresh approach." "Let's try the letter "B"." "No, wait, maybe we should start with "l"." "There's much to be done, my little beauties, much to be done." "Model shot, Red Dwarf in space." "Caption, "Three days later."" "Over, we hear a very tinny rendition of a Mexican Whistler-type chirpy tune." "Interior, sleeping quarters, morning." "Lister is asleep, totally under the covers." "Food and drink debris litters the floor and his bunk." "The music is coming from a cheap, bedside alarm clock, labelled "Souvenir of Titan"." "Good morning!" "This is your 7:00 alarm call." "It is now 10:57." "This is your 43rd reminder." "Thank you for buying me from the official Titan souvenir shop, the home of quality, taste and craftsmanship." "Lister stays under the covers." "Stop!" "I'm sorry, did you say, "Carry on"?" "Stop." "I said stop, stop, stop, stop, stoppy, stop, stop." "I'll carry on, then." "The music starts up again." "Thank you for buying me from the official Titan souvenir shop, the home of quality, taste and..." "Lister's boot kicks the clock across the room." "Cruel bastard." "Lights." "The lights come on." "Lister swings his legs over the bunk and sits up." "He is bald, except for a few very odd looking tufts." "He jumps down and crosses to the sink." "Water." "He splashes water over his face." "He looks in the mirror, then back down at the bowl." "He scoops up more water and freezes." "Cautiously, he raises his eyes back to the mirror." "They double in size." "He races back to the bed and throws back the duvet." "There are several clumps of hair on the pillow." "He snatches up a handful and goes back to the mirror." "He holds the hair up to his head, just to check it's his own hair." "It is." "Crap." "A panel raises up in the wall, and a lavatory bowl slides out." "Not you." "Interior, corridor, morning." "Lister, racing along panicked in his boxers and T-shirt, clutching his hair to his chest." "He drops a bit, stops, picks it up pathetically, and races off again." "Interior, Medical Unit, morning." "Lister races in and leaps on the chair." "How can I help you?" "All me hair's fallen out." "I see." "I mean, like, overnight, boom, it's gone." "I see." "Why?" "I want to know why." "Is it food poisoning, radiation sickness, have I been fiddling with meself more than is good for me?" "What?" "What is it?" "What's wrong with me?" "The machine makes some impressive-sounding noises, then pings." "Diagnosis complete." "You are suffering from a medical condition known as baldness." "Lister looks at the machine suspiciously." "You were not, by any chance, made on Titan, are you?" "Yes, indeedy." "The home of quality, taste and craftsmanship." "I need to know why I've gone bald." "Have you been under any particular stress recently?" "Have you suffered a bereavement?" "Uh, yes, my species died." "I'm sorry to hear that." "Were you close to your species?" "Not according to Rimmer." "You need a rest." "Your name has been registered on the sick list." "I don't need a rest." "I'm not tired," "I'm bald." "Prescribe something." "Very well." "This should help." "Something flops into the hatch at the base of the unit." "Lister fishes it out." "What's this?" "A smegging toupee?" "It's the Lounge Lizard 967." "Lister plonks it on his head." "It's red." "Completely undetectable from your own natural hair." "Made on Titan, the home of quali..." "Lister gives the machine a good kicking." "This unit is temporarily out of commission." "In the meantime, here is some music." "Tinny rendition of Mexican Whistler." "Lister gives the machine a final kick and it dies." "Interior, Refectory, morning." "Look at the poor guy, sad, sick, pathetic and ugly." "The question is, can I, in any way, help myself to his food?" "I think I can." "Me hair!" "Mind me hair." "Cat bears his teeth, sees that Lister isn't going to grab his food back and relaxes." "Fearsome!" "Like taking catnip from a kitten." "Rimmer jogs in." "I've gone bald, Rimmer." "Morning." "Look, bald as a cue ball." "Did you hear me, Rimmer?" "Rimmer stops at Lister's table." "How remarkable, a talking testicle." "Overnight." "It just fell out." "I'm sorry, Listy, do you need me for something?" "Eh?" "I thought you needed me for something." "I was just saying." "Me hair." "Lister tries to make his hair pile look presentable." "Well, glad to see you're coping." "Carry on coping, Lister." "And if you don't need me for anything, I'll be on my way." "I don't need you, Rimmer." "No, you don't need me, and you certainly don't need a hairdresser." "That's two things you don't need any more." "Rimmer smiles winningly and exits like Captain Bligh in a good mood." "The Cat bares his teeth after him, and so does Lister." "Rimmer must be right." "I am in shock." "What a scary thought," "Rimmer right." "Hang on." "He holds a strand up to the light, then plucks on of the few hairs still attached to his head and compares them." "This hasn't got the root on." "None of this has." "Holly, what is this stuff?" "29% methylene, 15% polymethylpropylene." "Eh, in English?" "It's an artificial compound, Dave." "Most commonly used to simulate human hair." "So, this is not my hair." "But who would put it on my..." "Rimmer." "But why?" "Why?" "Model shot, Red Dwarf in space." "Interior, ship corridor, night." "A scutter makes its way furtively down the hall." "It reaches Lister's sleeping quarters." "The scutter listens and is rewarded by a Listerian snore." "It slips inside." "Interior, Sleeping Quarters, night." "The scutter sneaks in." "Shot, Lister, apparently asleep." "He opens one eye, briefly, then closes it again and pretends to snore." "The scutter's claw comes into shot and hovers menacingly over Lister's face." "Lister opens his eyes, panic registers." "The scutter's claw comes down and rips off a clump of Lister's eyebrow." "The scutter races off." "Me eyebrow!" "You stole me eyebrow!" "Interior, ship corridor, night." "The scutter, racing along, clutching its ill-gotten gains." "Lister in hot pursuit." "Come here, you little smegger." "Interior, Teaching Room, night." "Rimmer is pacing up and down." "The door opens." "Rimmer turns expectantly." "There you are, you dozy..." "Rimmer, is there anything you want to say before I have Holly turn you off?" "What do you mean, "Turn me off"?" "You can't turn me off." "What do you think I am, a coffee percolator?" "You're a hologram, Rimmer." "Some people can cope with that, others go doodlally." ""Doolally", it's "doolally", you smegwit." "I've gone doolally." "Don't you know anything?" "Turn him off, Holly." "Wait." "Just wait." "Obviously, there is something you appear to think I've done quite unwittingly that seems to have caused you some kind of distress." "You have stolen me hair, you've kidnapped part of me eyebrow." "You're a dangerous head-the-ball nutter and I'm going to turn you off." "And it hasn't occurred to you that there might be some kind of reason I did those things?" "Did that thought ever cross the frozen tundra of your mind?" "Yes," "I thought it was because you're a dangerous head-the-ball nutter." "Project Regen, almost certainly the most ambitious and daring undertaking ever taken under by anyone, anywhere, ever." "Its aim; to create the perfect host body to house my intellect." "You're going to build a giant pair of talking buttocks?" "There's a process known as cellular regeneration." "Basically, it involves isolating the DNA and RNA molecules that form the template for every cell in an organism." "From there, it is theoretically possible to produce a complete new body from a single, living cell." "How?" "Well, it turns out that's the tricky bit." "Tricky, tricky, tricky." "And I haven't quite got to that chapter yet in the Big Boy's Book of Cloning." "Got distracted looking at the 3-D pop-ups." "You know how it is." "It's impossible, Rimmer." "It would be impossible for a Nobel Prize-winning geneticist, never mind a smegwad who got an F-minus fail in plant biology." "Impossible is not a word in my vocabulary." "That's probably true." "You got an F minus in English, too." "I know it's ambitious." "If you're Albert Einstein, it's ambitious." "Face it, Rimmer, you can't even make a decent omelette." "And don't think I wasn't discouraged." "But then I read the human body is composed of 98% water." "So?" "So." "He waves his arm to indicate a stack of full plastic water barrels." "Only 2% to go." "The problem is, where to start?" "The nose?" "Too complicated." "Millions of veins, thousands of pores, matching nostrils." "The intestines?" "There are over three miles of intestines in the human body." "Bad place to start." "So, you thought you'd start with my hair?" "I wanted a tiny sample of living hair." "These mental, metal morons shaved it all off." "I needed the roots." "I sent them to pluck your eyebrow." "Rimmer, you have lost the plot so badly." "Did you ever think why, out of all of humanity, the two of us have been chosen to survive?" "Yeah, luck." "And, in my case, very bad luck." "It can't be luck, because, then, nothing has any meaning." "There has to be some kind of purpose." "And the whole spectrum of human achievement has not been leading to a point where a man can watch Mugs Murphy cartoons 18 hours a day and belch The Ride of the Valkyries on a single pint of beer." "You cannot be the apex of the human race." "Therefore, it must be me." "I must be the point of evolution." "Homo erectus," "Homo sapiens, and now," "Homo Rimmer." "It's unassailable logic." "So, let me get this straight, because the scope of your insanity is actually beginning to awe me." "You are the next stage in evolution up from man?" "That's right." "Mother would have been so proud." "She was so worried I'd never amount to anything after I failed my apprenticeship in greengrocery." "So, the whole of history was designed to produce you?" "Michelangelo," "Shakespeare," "World War I?" "World War I will be regarded by my species as no more than a fracas between two tribes of chimpanzees." "You see now why I need a body?" "My species must survive and reproduce with other Homo Rimmers." "It's destiny." "Rimmer stares off into space, dreaming of Rimmer City on Rimmer World." "I'm turning you off, man." "You're scaring me." "I'm turning you off before you actually explode." "Seriously?" "Are you seriously serious?" "I'm sorry?" "Holly, not now." "Not, not just like that." "Give me some time." "A week." "A day, at least." "An hour." "Give me an hour." "No way." "You'll talk me out of it, or try some freakish escape plan." "Twenty minutes." "Just twenty minutes." "The time it takes to make love three times and eat the pizza." "Surely you can stand me existing for another 20 minutes." "I'll give you 10." "Drive Room. 10 minutes." "Interior, Drive Room, night." "We hear a peep, as when an admiral is piped onboard, and Rimmer steps in wearing a dashing, white naval uniform, a row of gleaming medals on his breast." "Second Technician Arnold Rimmer, reporting for death." "I didn't know you had any medals." "Yes, well, I've always thought it unseemly to flaunt the honourable badges of steely courage, informally." "What're they for?" "Five years long service." "Ten years long service." "Swimming proficiency, bronze." "You ready?" "Ready?" "Ready for the ultimate failure?" "Ready for disgrace, ignominy and defeat?" "Yes, Lister," "I've always been ready for that." "Okey-dokey." "Holly?" "Wait, wait, wait, wait." "What?" "I've prepared some carefully chosen final words." "I thought you might have the good grace to allow me at least that." "Okay, let's hear it." "Holly." "Rimmer holds out his hand and Holly generates a massive book onto it." "Rimmer just manages to hang on to it and turns to the front page." ""Chapter One." ""Life was never easy for young Arnold J Rimmer." ""From the moment of his conception..."" "Off." "No..." "Okay, Holly, give me the hologram of Kristine Kochanski." "I'm sorry, Dave, the personality discs of the entire crew were booked out of the databanks five minutes ago by Second Technician Arnold Rimmer." "No!" "All except Second Technician Arnold Rimmer." "Why did I give him 10 minutes?" "I'm an idiot." "There is one other, Dave." "He's forgotten one?" "He was unaware of its existence." "The remaining disc does not belong to a member of the dead crew." "I'll take it." "I have to warn you." "Holly, I'll take it." "A hologram fuzzes into life." "It's Dave Lister." "Wow!" "The sexiest, most handsome, most intelligentest guy onboard!" "Lock up your daughters, the Lister boys are in town." "Life is going to be one big, long party." " Part-y!" " Part-y!" "They try to high-five, but of course, their hands pass through each other." "Model shot, Red Dwarf in space." "Caption, "Five days later."" "Over, we hear the terrifying, ship-rumbling snore." "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" "Sleeping quarters, morning." "As in the opening scene," "Lister is standing, mad-eyed, by the bunks with the flare gun to his head." "One of us has got to go." "Shut up!" "What?" "What's up?" "What?" "Stop the smegging snoring!" "Hologram Lister looks around, baffled." "I'm not snor..." "You were snoring." "Well, I'm not now." "So that's okay." "Good night." "Hang on, can you just wait till I'm asleep, before you go to sleep?" "No, because if you go to sleep first," "I won't be able to go to sleep because of your snoring." "The alarm clock, plastered together with sticky tape and bandages, starts playing its chirpy refrain." "Stop!" "Smeg, it's 5:00 in the morning." "Why did you set the alarm for 5:00 in the morning?" "Because I want to get up at 9:00." "Then, why set it for 5:00?" "Because it doesn't wake me up at 5:00." "If it doesn't wake you up, why set it?" "Why not?" "It doesn't wake me up." "No, but it wakes me up." "I thought you were awake already." "Yes, because I couldn't sleep." "Do you know how loudly you snore?" "Not really." "I'm usually asleep when it starts." "I can't stand this." "You're driving me crazy." "You sit in me favourite chair." "You hog the vid." "We arrange to go for a drink at 8:00," "I'm an hour late." "You forget to turn up." "How can you forget to turn up?" "How can you be an hour late?" "And you've got no people nous." "You can see I haven't slept in five nights, I'm smegged off and I'm holding a loaded flare gun, but still you push me and push me with your stupid remarks." "You're an idiot." "And look at the state of this place!" "It's truly disgusting." "What're you talking about?" "It's all your mess." "So what?" "You can still get the scutters to tidy up a bit." "Why can't you?" "You're the world's most disgusting slob." "You think it's fun for me being with you all the time?" "You think it's fun watching you picking your nose for hours on end?" "Everybody picks their nose." "Not with a carrot." "Oh, yeah?" "Because you're such a la-di-da model of etiquette and decorum." "Your backside is like the wind section of the Pasadena Light Orchestra." "I swear, last night you were sitting behind me," "I thought somebody was playing The Lonely Goatherd on an Alpine horn." "If I can just say something here, quite clearly, tempers are getting..." "Lister sweeps the clock against the wall." "... frayed." "Well, this can't go on, can it?" "One of us has got to go." "You're right." "Eat flare, dirt bag." "Whomp." "The bunk bursts into flames." "You have really lost the plot, haven't you, man?" "Fire!" "I mean, you could have killed me then, if I'd been alive in the first place." "Lister scrambles through the food cartons and bottles, desperately looking for the fire extinguisher." "Fire!" "Fire!" "Rimmer was right." "You need help, pal." "Where's the smegging extinguisher?" "Where is it?" "There's no fire extinguisher." "Where the smeg is it?" "Try the fire drill on the wall." "Maybe it says..." "What?" "On the wall." "Try the fire drill on the wall." "They both rush over and read." " "Just to annoy Rimmer, I, Dave Lister, - "Just to annoy Rimmer, I, Dave Lister," " "have replaced these emergency instructions - "have replaced these emergency instructions" " "with a list of 15 reasons why Rimmer is annoying." - "with a list of 15 reasons why Rimmer is annoying."" "Genius." "Seemed funny at the time." "Where's the smegging extinguisher?" "Rimmer's probably got one of the scutters to tidy it away." "Rimmer." "I need Rimmer." "Did I really say that?" "Wash my mouth out with soap and water." "The fire's getting worse." "Look at that, you're going to get cooked." "Holly, switch holo discs." "I need Rimmer back." "Fire!" "Fire!" "Where's the fire extinguisher?" "Fire!" "There's a fire!" "Lister, there's a fire!" "Where's the fire extinguisher?" "No time for that now, Listy, there's a fire." "Fire!" "That's why I need a fire extinguisher, you smegger." "Fire extinguisher!" "Fire extinguisher!" "That's "F"." ""F" is... over there in the fridge." "In the fridge?" "What's it doing there?" "I started to alphabetise all the items in our quarters for simplicity's sake." "So, starting from here everything is in alphabetical order." ""B" for bunks," ""C" for clothes," ""D" for door," "F" for fridge, and fire extinguisher." "Get it?" "So, where is it, then?" "Well, if it's an "F", an "F-l", it must be just before the fridge, an "F-R"." "Or perhaps inside the fridge." "Let's take a look, shall we?" "Now, where will it be?" "In the "F" section of the fridge, of course." "What have we here?" "Fast food, fermented drinks, fromage frais, fire extinguisher!" "You see how easy it..." "Why are you looking at me as if I'm completely insane?" "If everything is in alphabetical order, why is my guitar here by the window, in the "W" section?" "That's not a window, that is a fenêtre." "It's in the "F" section, leading on to the "G" section, for guitar." "You see?" "Okay." "Why is the basin not next to the bunk?" "And why is the ceiling not in the clothes section?" "Because, you moronic baboon," "I never got to finish it because you turned me off." "Now, put out the fire and shut up." "Lister grabs the extinguisher." "Turn it on!" "Turn it on!" "From the top." "Start at the top and work down!" "I am working down." "Look!" "They're going out." "The flames are going out." "What a team, Listy!" "You, the brute-force knucklehead of the operation, whereas I provide the wit and the brains." "On your own, you'd have fried like a piece of bacon, but with me, by your side, guiding you, teaching you, a sort of ancient sage type of mentor figure, look what we've achieved." "They survey the sleeping quarters, a blackened, charred mess." "We did that." "You and me." "You can't turn me off now," "I saved the day." "I saved your life." "Me," "Rimmsy, your hologramatic chum." "One last chance, man." "You're on trial." "Model shot, Red Dwarf in space." "Caption, "The following morning."" "Interior, sleeping quarters, morning." "Emergency, emergency." "Will all crew please proceed to General Assembly 4?" "This is a Class A emergency." "Lister wakes and scampers out of the room." "But not before he has stood in a pizza, which he drags along with him." "Interior, ship corridor, morning." "Lister running, still dragging the pizza." "Interior, Refectory, morning." "Okay, let's get this show on the road." "As you all know, we had a fire yesterday in the living quarters." "And, as Senior Officer Apparent, it falls to me to establish the exact cause of said fire, and to conduct an impartial witch-hunt into finding someone who can be blamed and punished." "But let's not get ahead of ourselves to the fun sentencing part." "First we need to discover who was present at the actual time of said fire." "Ackenback?" "Rimmer crosses Ackenback off his list of culprits." "Allender?" "Appleford?" "Lister closes his eyes in frustration and begins to head-butt the table." "# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere" "# I'm all alone, more or less" "# Let me fly far away from here" "# Fun, fun, fun" "# In the sun, sun, sun #"