From: ensalada@cats.ucsc.edu (Kevin Charles Rubio)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.red-dwarf
Subject: `Polymorph' transcription
Date: 7 Jan 1993 08:31:52 GMT
Organization: University of California; Santa Cruz
Reply-To: keeper@deeptht.armory.com
NNTP-Posting-Host: si.ucsc.edu



There are a few of words I'm not sure about, either in spelling
or in usage, and a couple that I don't know at all.
(For instance, I know that `whist' is a card game, but am not familiar
with the idea of a `whist drive' fundraiser, so have the word in question
brackets.  Clarification on any questions is appreciated.)

The objects that the polymorph turns into have a few questions that
perhaps can be answered.  Also, the bat held by Lister is described
as a baseball bat, but actually is a bit thinner than that -- is it
a bat for rounders or something, or just a slightly downsized baseball
bat?  With the propensity for American sport in the show (the Zero Gee
Football posters show that clearly it's an adaptation of American football,
and indeed the novels state that, too, with the "winning touch-up" and all),
I was quick to decide that it is intended to be a baseball bat.

But, without further ado ...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[6 January 1993]
 
RED DWARF: series three, episode three -- "Polymorph"
by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor
 
	{The Red Dwarf logo appears on the screen with the word `WARNING'.}
 
Voice:  This week's `Red Dwarf' contains scenes which are unsuitable for
	younger viewers and people of a nervous disposition.
 
	You have been warned.
 
	{Opening title sequence}
 
 
	[A pod is floating through space.  Signs on the side read
	 `GENETIC WASTE' and `DO NOT OPEN'.  It broadcasts a message.]
 
Voice:  Danger.  Do not attempt to open this pod.
 
[As the pod rotates, it is seen that a hole has been eaten out of the side.]
 
Voice:  The creature inside is extremely hostile.  It feeds off the human
	psyche, seeks out the deranged, the unbalanced and the emotionally
	crippled.
 
	[As the camera view goes inside the hole in the pod, the view
	 changes to the Red Dwarf floating in space.  A closeup of the
	 hull reveals that a hole has been chewed into it.  A monster's
	 growl is heard.]
 
	[The view changes to from between the teeth of the creature, as
	 it slinks along the cluttered floor of one of the decks aboard
	 the Red Dwarf.  The creature makes some weak "Nyum nyum" noises.
	 Obviously, it's very small.  It slinks up to a broken mirror and
	 looks at itself, then mutters in disgust and covers its eyes.
	 It then suddenly turns into ...
 
	 ... a teddy bear ...
	 ... a bucket and spade ...
	 ... a pot of red flowers [a bowl of petunias, perhaps?] ...
	 ... a Tonka dump truck ...
	 ... a doll wearing a long hoop dress ...
	 ... a white rotary-dial telephone ...
	 ... a toy elephant ...
	 ... a two-tone hat [help me identify the type of hat, please] ...
	 ... a baseball mitt with ball ...
	 ... a toy boxer ...
	 ... a toy drum ...
	 ... a yellow lamp [what kind is it? shape of glass looks like the
		lamp on the TARDIS] ...
	 ... a red toy Volkswagen beetle ...
	 ... a rollerskate ...
	 ... a traffic cone ...
	 ... a lampshade ...
	 ... a toy penguin with a sign on its belly [but it's lying on its
	        back, so the sign can't be read] ...
	 ... a piggy bank ...
	 ... a Ken doll with something stuck to its chest [help?] ...
	 ... a blue potty ...
	 ... an alarm clock ...
	 ... a tennis ball ...
	 ... a tennis shoe ...
	 ... a large pot ...
	 ... a yellow Koosh Ball ...
	 ... a floor-scrub brush ...
	 ... a bucket on its side ...
	 ... a tiny blue toy whale ...
	 ... a statue of Indian origin [help?] ...
	 ... an incandescent lightbulb ...
	 ... a red old-style horn, bell end down ...
	 ... a yellow ball [if this is a tennis ball, what was the
	        slightly larger yellow-and-orange ball earlier? squash?] ...
	 ... a red sock ...
	 ... a fluffy white rabbit.
 
	 Satisfied, the polymorph hops away from the mirror, and comes to
	 rest down the corridor, where it changes its mind and turns into
	 a red-white-and-blue basketball (coloured like the defunct American
	 Basketball Association's balls), and bounces away.]
 
 
	[In the officers' quarters, where Lister and Rimmer now live,
	 Lister is preparing a meal.  He is scooping out of a tin labelled
	 `Red Dwarf; Chilli Powder; [Sample?] Issue'.  He is wearing a black
	 robe with green edges.]
 
Lister:  Not too little, and not too much...
 
[He taps the spoon on the edge of the can to get just the right amount, then
 dumps the can's contents into a bowl, and puts the spoon's contents back in
 the can.  He picks up a fork and begins to stir the ingredients.]
 
Lister:  Here we go!
 
[Kryten enters, carrying a vacuum-cleaner tube.]
 
Kryten:  I just thought I'd give your quarters a quick tickle around, sir.
	 I won't take a jiff.
 
Lister:  Not now, Kryten -- I'm cooking.
 
[Kryten attaches the tube to his groin and begins vacuuming.]
 
Lister:  I didn't know you could do that!
 
Kryten:  (stopping the vacuum)  Oh yes, I can plug a number of add-ons
	 into my groinal socket, allowing me to perform virtually any
	 household task imaginable.
 
Lister:  Like what?
 
Kryten:  Oh, you name it: buzz saw, power drill, hedge trimmer ... even
	 an egg whisk.
 
Lister:  (taking the end of the tube, which still is attached to Kryten)
	 What, so you just, like, stick the egg whisk attachment on the end
	 and you can, like, whip up a Spanish omelette?
 
Kryten:  I certainly can, sir, but it's amazing how few people are prepared
	 to eat them.
 
[Lister gives the tube back to Kryten, who begins to vacuum again, but
 quickly begins to spasm.  Eventually he shuts the vacuum down.]
 
Kryten:  Goodness me, I must have sucked up a penny.  (he spits out the coin)
	 I better change the old bag there.  Yes, I'll just go and get a
	 fresh one.
 
[Kryten leaves as Cat enters.  They each raise their left hand, and high-five
 in passing.  Cat is wearing a leopardskin jacket.]
 
Cat:  Mmm!!! Something smells good!  What is it?  (sniffs)  It's me!
      I love this aftershave!  (spins round, palms outturned, then goes
      to the table)
 
Lister:  You are five minutes away from the greatest meal of your life, man,
	 so set your tastebuds on Defcom 3!
 
[Cat now stands behind the table, which has candles on it, as well as
 various medical supplies.]
 
Cat:  Hey, you've really made an effort here!  Where'd you get all this
      stuff?
 
Lister:  I just got sick and tired of using plastic knives and forks, man,
	 so I went to the medical unit and nicked some gear.
 
Cat:  (picks a scalpel off the table, disgustedly)  This is a scalpel!
      I'm supposed to cut >my< food with a scalpel? something that has
      been inside someone's guts?
 
Lister:  It's all been cleaned; it's all been washed; it's clean.
 
Cat:  (as he approaches Lister) ...something that, long ago in history,
      may well have performed a certain popular Jewish operation?  >I'm<
      supposed to eat with >this<?
 
Lister:  (taps Cat's cheek with the back of his hand with each beat)
	 Get the onion salads out of the fridge!
 
Cat:  (stops as he sees the sign on the refrigerator)  `Embryo Refrigeration
      Unit'?!
 
Lister:  How many times...?  It's clean; it's been cleaned!
 
[Cat opens the refrigerator door, muttering "onion salad" as he scans the
 contents of the refrigerator.]
 
Lister:  They're in the kidney bowls, next to the [cholostomy?] bag with the
	 chilli sauce in it...
 
[Cat removes the two kidney bowls, rather disgustedly.  Lister has finished
 his mixing.]
 
Lister:  Here we go, here we go!
 
[Lister opens a microwave oven, then uses his hands to throw the contents
 of his bowl into it.  He then tosses in a roll, and squirts a tube of
 catsup-like substance [can anyone read the label, or otherwise have an
 idea what this stuff could be?].  He closes the microwave oven door, and,
 after a buzz, opens it, removing two plates with the properly prepared
 meals on them.  He goes to the table.]
 
Lister:  Yahoo!  Come on, man, come on!  It's ready!  Sit down, sit down!
	 (puts a plate down at his seat)  One kebab for you ...
	 (puts the other plate at Cat's seat)  ... and one kebab for me.
 
[They sit down.  Cat folds a serviette into his collar.  Lister holds up
 an enormous metal cylindrical object.]
 
Lister:  (offering)  Lemon juice?
 
Cat:  (points at the object)  What the hell is that?
 
Lister:  It's a syringe.
 
Cat:  What kind of syringe?
 
Lister:  It's for cows -- artificial insemination.  It's been washed; it's
	 clean; it's all been sterilised.  Do you want lemon juice or what?
 
Cat:  (removes the serviette)  Ahem.  Excuse me.  (stands)
 
Lister:  (baffled)  What? What about the meal?
 
Cat:  This isn't a meal -- this is an autopsy!
 
Lister:  It's only the starter, man!  What about the main course?
 
Cat:  Hey, you think I got nothing better to do than hang around watching
      you serve chicken [??] in a stool bucket?  (leaves)
 
Lister:  Oh, charming.  (picks up a urine-sample bottle of wine and begins
	 to pour it into a [what are those round pyramid-like things called?])
	 I dunno... You pull out all the stops ... you make an effort ... try
	 and do something with a little bit of extra class, and where does it
	 get you?  (drinks the wine)  Mmm, very cheeky!
 
[Outside, in the corridor, the polymorph, still as the basketball, bounces
 along, and then into the room.  Lister, confused, picks it up and rests
 it on the table.  While he goes to the door to look into the corridor,
 the polymorph rolls onto his plate and turns into a second kebab.]
 
 
	[In another area of the ship, Rimmer is watching a video, smiling.
	 The video image is unstable, clearly a home video, of a family
	 having a picnic.]
 
Kryten:  (bumping into something on a countertop)  Oh, I'm sorry to
	 interrupt, sir.  (holds up a new vacuum bag)  I just need to
	 get a, heh heh... er, sorry.
 
Rimmer:  Oh, no, Kryten, it's all right -- just running a few of the old
	 home movies...
 
[Kryten moves to see.]
 
Rimmer:  (pointing at the screen)  That's me, there.  Those are my brothers:
	 John, Frank and Howard.  God, we were close.  `The Four Musketeers'
	 we used to call ourselves.  Well, `The Three Musketeers' actually --
	 they always let me be the Queen of Spain.  Marvellous.  I mean, yes,
	 I was the butt of the occasional practical joke, but I mean, er,
	 nothing sinister.
 
[On the screen, two boys in scout uniforms are seen hammering wooden stakes
 into the ground.  The stakes are tied to the arms and legs of a third boy
 in scout uniform.  One boy smears jam onto the bound boy's face as the
 other holds up a tin labelled `Ants' to the camera, and then begins pouring
 it onto the bound boy's face.]
 
Rimmer:  Just the usual boyhood pranks, you know: apple-pied beds, and
	 black-eyed telescope ... and, one time, they even hid a small land
	 mine in my sand pit.  They took it from my father's gun cabinet.
	 I mean, how were they supposed to know it was going to go off?
	 Marvellous guys.
 
[The video image now shows a woman reading `Good Schools Guide']
 
Kryten:  Oh, and, er, who's that, there? and old girlfriend, Mr Arnold, sir?
 
Rimmer:  Hardly.
 
Kryten:  Ah, no.  Not really your type, I suppose -- silly old trout like
	 that.
 
Rimmer:  She's my mother.
 
Kryten:  Oh! I am >so< sorry, sir!!!
 
Rimmer:  Just forget it.
 
Kryten:  Oh, how can I forget it, sir?  I compared your mother to a foolish,
	 aged blubbery fish!  I said she was a simple-minded, scaly old
	 piscine!  I estimated she was an ugly, lungless marine animal with
	 galloping senility -- a putrid amphibious gillbreather with (cries)
	 with less brains than a mollusc!
 
Rimmer:  Forget it!  (looks back to screen)  Ah, freeze!
 
[The image freezes on her still reading the book.]
 
Rimmer:  Ah, there she is -- magnificent woman.  Very prim. Very proper. Some
	 say austere.  Some people took her for cold, thought she was aloof.
	 Not a bit of it -- she just despised idiots, no time for fools.
	 Tragic, really; otherwise we would have got on famously.
 
Kryten:  Well, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go now -- this is clearly
	 a very private family moment.  I've no fish to embarrass you
	 further; I'll let myself trout.  (begins to leave, but then
	 returns, crying once again in apology)  Oh, sir, I'm--
 
Rimmer:  Just go!
 
[Kryten leaves.  As Rimmer shakes his head, Holly appears on the screen.]
 
Holly:  I don't want you to panic, Arn, but it does appear there's a very
	tiny possibility that there may very well in all likelihood possibly
	be a non-human life form on board.
 
Rimmer:  You mean like last time, when you got us all worked up and we
	 went scooting off down to the cargo bay complete with bazookoids
	 and backpacks, and it turned out to be one of Lister's socks?
 
Holly:  I didn't recognise the genetic structure.  Biologically speaking,
	they were a completely new life form.
 
Rimmer:  Absolutely ridiculous! I felt the total goit.
 
Holly:  Well, I think you should take [a/the?] [??].
 
Rimmer:  Where is it?
 
Holly:  I lost it.  It's somewhere along the habitation deck.
 
Rimmer:  (standing)  I can't get a moment's peace in this place...
 
 
	[Back in the quarters, Lister is sitting back at the table as
	 Kryten enters, with the vacuum cleaner tube attached.]
 
Kryten:  Enjoying your meal, sir?
 
Lister:  It's delicious, Kryten -- de-smegging-licious.  It's my own
	 recipe, you know: Shami Kebab Diablo!  It's beautiful, man.
	 It's like eating molten lava.  I cooked up one for Petersen
	 once, you know ... he was in sickbay for a week -- for a week!
 
[Lister shakes some pepper on the remaining kebab as he watches Kryten clean.
 The kebab wriggles and sneezes.]
 
Lister:  What'd you say?
 
Kryten:  I didn't say anything, sir.
 
[Lister picks up a scalpel and sets to cut the kebab, but he notices it
 wriggling.  It notices him trying to cut it, and leaps around his neck.
 Lister falls to the floor, trying to pry off the kebab.]
 
Kryten:  Do you seriously like them that hot, sir?
 
Lister:  (pointing at the kebab)  It's trying to kill me!
 
Kryten:  Oh, it's a good one, huh?
 
[Lister manages finally to pry it off, and the kebab runs behind some cases.]
 
Lister:  It went under here -- I can see it!  (he beats at the cases with
	 a baseball bat)
 
Kryten:  Are you all right, sir?
 
[A noise is heard as the polymorph changes shape.]
 
Lister:  Smeg! It's gone!
 
Kryten:  What?
 
Lister:  How can that be?  Where could it go?  (he picks up a pair of red
	 shorts from the floor and begins to put them on)  We better get
	 out of here, Kryten.  Something very weird is going on.  Something
	 very, very-- ooh, there some kind of pain in my groin...
 
[Movement is seen underneath Lister's robe as his shorts begin making noise.
 He screams.]
 
Kryten:  What's wrong?
 
Lister:  My underpants -- they're shrinking!  Oh god! The boxers are alive,
	 man!  They're getting smaller!!!
 
[Lister falls to the floor on his back, writhing in pain.]
 
Lister:  Help me, please!  Please!!!
 
[Kryten goes to his knees, and begins to try removing Lister's shorts.
 Rimmer enters, and sees the goings-on from behind Kryten.]
 
Lister:  (still bouncing wildly)  Please, I'm begging you!  Get it off,
	 man!  Pull it down!
 
[Kryten finally retrieves the shorts, and stands, holding them -- very
 small they are too.  He puts them on Lister's bunk.]
 
Rimmer:  Well, I can't say I'm totally shocked...  You'll bonk anything,
	 won't you, Lister...
 
Lister:  Kryten, the boxers: where are they?
 
Kryten:  I threw them over here.  (but he can't find them)
 
Lister:  You sure?
 
Kryten:  There's nothing here...
 
[The polymorph can be heard changing form once more.]
 
Kryten: (rummages around Lister's bunk) Just the blanket, and the pillows,
	and the...
 
Lister:  Snake!!!  \
		    >
Kryten:  ...snake. /
 
Rimmer:  Snake?!
 
[Kryten has a large boa constrictor wrapped around him.  It suddenly leaps at
 and attacks Lister.  Lister struggles with it, but manages to stuff it into
 his laundry basket.]
 
Rimmer:  What the smeg is going on?
 
Lister:  (walks backwards away from the basket, cowering)  I hate snakes!
	 They freak me out totally, snakes.  (he picks up some large forceps
	 and approaches the basket)  They are my all-time second-worst fear,
	 guy.
 
Rimmer:  What's your first?
 
[The polymorph changes shape as Lister opens the basket, and a huge, fleshy,
 slimy-appendaged creature shoots out, reaching the ceiling.  It has a set
 of sharp teeth on extendable jaws.]
 
Lister:  (to Rimmer)  This.
 
[From between the jaws, a thin, slimy sucker comes out and attaches to
 Lister's forehead, with a quiet, squishy `splat'.  Lister collapses.]
 
 
	[Later, Lister is asleep in the medical unit.  Cat leans
	 against his bed.  Rimmer and Kryten are standing nearby.]
 
Cat:  Is he OK?
 
Rimmer:  As far as we can tell, yes.
 
Cat:  So where'd the creature go?
 
Rimmer:  Well, it turned into a kind of splodgy, squelchy thing and
	 squidged off down the corridor.
 
Cat:  What is it? some kind of alien?
 
Holly:  No, it's from Earth -- man made.  I checked out its DNA profile ...
	some kind of genetic experiment that went wrong.
 
Kryten:  Apparently, it was an attempt to create the ultimate warrior --
	 a mutant that could change shape to suit its terrain and deceive
	 its enemies.
 
Cat:  So what did go wrong?
 
Kryten:  (throaty, dramatic)  It's insane!
 
Holly:  It feeds off the negative emotions -- fear, guilt, anger,
	paranoia -- drains them out of its prey.
 
Kryten:  It's a sort of emotional vampire.  It changes shape to provoke
	 a negative emotion -- in Lister's case, it took him to the very
	 limit of his terror, then sucked out his fear.
 
Rimmer:  So now Lister's got no sense of fear...
 
Kryten:  Precisely.
 
Rimmer:  What are we going to do?
 
Lister:  (sitting up, awake)  Well, I say let's get out there and twat it!
 
Rimmer:  Lister, you're ill.  Just relax and leave this to us.
 
Lister:  I could have had it in the sleeping quarters, but you saw it --
	 you saw it -- it took me by surprise.
 
Rimmer:  Lister, it turned into an eight-foot-tall, armour-plated alien
	 killing machine.
 
Lister:  If it wants a [barny?], we'll give it one!  One swift knee in the
	 happy sacks; it'll drop like anyone else!
 
Rimmer:  Fine, well, we'll bear that in mind when we're planning our
	 strategy.
 
Lister:  I'm gonna rip out its windpipe and beat it death with the
	 tonsil end.
 
Rimmer:  Yes, yes, very good...
 
Lister:  I'm gonna stick my fist so far down its gob, I'll be able to
	 pull the label off its underpants.
 
Rimmer:  Yes, yes...  Kryten...
 
[Kryten injects a sedative through Lister's arm.]
 
Lister:  What's that, pal?  You starting trouble??
 
Kryten:  It's just a little something to calm you down, sir.
 
Lister:  Come on, then!  All of you, slags!  All together or one at a time!
	 I don't care -- it's all the same to me!  I'm... (collapses)
 
Rimmer:  Ah, thank god for that.  Right -- as far as I can see it, we have
	 two options: One, we take it on and kill it; or Two, run away.
	 Who's for Two?
 
Kryten:  Two sounds pretty good to me, sir.
 
Cat:  It's always been >my< lucky number.
 
Rimmer:  Right, well, let's load up Starbug and get out of here.
 
Holly:  What about Lister?
 
Rimmer:  Oh, just seal the hatch from the inside.  He'll be safe here until
	 we're ready to go.
 
Holly:  Remember: it's out there, and it could be anything.
 
Rimmer:  Let's move it.
 
Kryten:  What about the Space Corps Directive which states, "It is our
	 primary overriding duty to contact other life forms, exchange
	 information, and, wherever possible, bring them home"?
 
Rimmer:  What about the Rimmer Directive which states, "Never tangle with
	 anything that's got more teeth than the entire Osmond family"?
 
[Rimmer leaves, and is followed by Kryten and Cat.]
 
 
	[Later, in the bowels of the ship, the three are going down
	 a cargo lift.  In the dim blue light, Kryten is monitoring
	 a device he holds in his hand.  Beeps from it become more
	 rapid until it makes a solid tone.  Cat is wearing a silver
	 jacket, and has on a headband and studded fingerless gloves.
	 Cat and Kryten each carry a bazookoid and wear a backpack.]
 
Kryten:  It's here.
 
Cat:  Where?
 
Kryten:  Somewhere.
 
Rimmer:  Set the bazookoids to heat-seeker.
 
[Cat and Kryten do so.]
 
Rimmer:  When you see it, aim roughly in its direction, and the heat seekers
	 will do the rest.
 
[They step off the lift, and creep around.  Rimmer looks down a corridor
 between crates of cargo.]
 
Rimmer:  (mumbling)  Is that a shadow?  (shouts)  It's in the shadows!
	 There! There! There! (pointing)
 
[Cat and Kryten emerge from behind crates beside Rimmer, and fire down the
 corridor.]
 
Rimmer:  Sorry.  My fault.  False alarm.
 
Cat:  Idiot.
 
[The heat-seeking balls of energy round the corner as they continue their
 search for a valid target.  They then change direction and head back
 toward the trio.  The view changes to a computer screen bullet-eye view.
 The screen reads "LASERTHERMO ENABLED; STATUS KILL; LOCKED."  The group
 manages to duck just in time, and the bullet balls fly over their heads.]
 
Rimmer:  I don't understand it -- holograms don't produce heat, and neither
	 do androids.  What are they homing in on?
 
[Cat freezes for a moment, then looks over at Rimmer and Kryten as they
 look at him.]
 
Cat:  So long, guys.  (runs away)
 
[The energy balls return to where Rimmer and Kryten are and round the
 corner, chasing Cat.  Cat runs around a few corners, then grabs a
 cardboard box and holds it up.  The energy falls burn through it and
 go down the aisle.  Cat throws down the box and begins running again
 as the energy balls change direction to follow him again.  From a
 motionless camera, Cat can be seen trotting across a perpendicular
 aisle, followed by the balls, then almost immediately across the
 next aisle, in the other direction.  This continues for the next
 aisle, and then he's seen running down the last aisle one way, then
 the other.  The view changes to ground level between Cat's feet.
 He leaps over the energy balls and dives down a side aisle.  The balls
 still chase after him, but have lost him.  Cat walks quietly down
 an aisle, with his back against the cargo boxes.  He peeks down another
 aisle, then walks into an intersection.  At the next intersection, the
 two balls hover, waiting for him.]
 
Cat:  Oh, come on -- give me a break!
 
[Cat runs down an aisle again, followed by the balls.  He runs to a
 dead end except for a door.  He activates the door, which slides open,
 and ducks.  The balls fly past him, into the area beyond the door.
 Cat reaches up and hits the door control again, trapping the energy balls
 inside.  He stands up.]
 
Cat:  You either got it or you ain't.  Boys, you ain't even close.
      (struts away, then hears Rimmer's voice calling)
 
Rimmer:  [voice only]  Cat, where are you?
 
Cat:  Over here!
 
Rimmer:  (rounding a corner somewhere)  Stay put -- we'll come and find you.
 
Kryten:  (rounding the same corner)  Keep talking!
 
[Cat doesn't believe this, and sneaks around warily.  He hops into a
 `T' intersection, turns 360 degrees, then walks down the vertical
 part of the `T'.  A woman comes up behind him.]
 
Woman:  What are you looking for?
 
Cat:  A mutant.  It's dangerous -- it can turn into anything!
 
Woman:  Oh, sounds pretty scary!
 
Cat:  It is, baby.  Believe me.
 
Woman:  (as they round a corner)  It must take a really brave sort of
	guy to do this kind of work.
 
Cat:  Well, I guess you're right!
 
Woman:  And smart -- I bet you have to be smart!
 
Cat:  (stops walking)  Smart?  Yeah, you definitely have to be smart.
      Like I say, it can turn into anything.  You gotta have your wits
      about you all the time -- don't let up for one second, or it'll
      just creep up on you and (motions with his paw) >blip!< you're dog
      meat.  (moves his head down the corridor)  Come on, baby.  (walks)
 
Woman:  You know, you're really quite a guy -- brave, smart, handsome...
 
Cat:  (stops walking suddenly, smiles)  Oh, you think handsome?
 
Woman:  Oh, come on.  You know, you're probably the best-looking guy I've
	ever seen.
 
Cat:  Well, I wasn't going to be the first to say it.
 
Woman:  Do you know what I'd really like?
 
Cat:  Hmm?
 
Woman:  I'd really like to make love to guy like you.
 
Cat:  (big grin)  Well, I'm sure I have a window in my schedule somewhere.
      Let's see ... er, what are you doing in, say, ten seconds time?
 
Woman:  Nothing I couldn't cancel.  (runs her tongue along her teeth)
 
Cat:  Hi. I'm the Cat.
 
Woman:  Hi. I'm the Genetic Mutant.
 
Cat:  Glad to know you ... Genny who?
 
[The polymorph turns back into its large slimy form, its jaws extend, and
 the thin, slimy sucker come out and plops onto Cat's forehead.  Elsewhere,
 Kryten and Rimmer have heard this and begin running down the aisles, Rimmer
 trailing a considerable distance behind.]
 
Rimmer:  It's got him!
 
[Kryten rushes around the corner near Cat.  Rimmer walks in slowly behind.]
 
Kryten:  (kneeling by Cat)  Oh, my goodness!  Are you all right?  (pets
	 Cat's head, then uses an electronic instrument)
 
Rimmer:  Is he dead?
 
Kryten:  Unconscious, but, according to the psi scan, he appears to have
	 lost an emotion.
 
Rimmer:  Which emotion?
 
Kryten:  He's lost his vanity!
 
Rimmer:  This is your fault, Kryten.
 
Kryten:  (stammers, surprised)  My fault?
 
Rimmer:  You were supposed to stick together.  You let the Cat run off alone.
 
Kryten:  But it wasn't... I mean...
 
Rimmer:  He trusted you.  Now look at him.
 
Kryten:  Oh, please...  I feel so--
 
Rimmer:  GUILTY?!!!
 
Kryten:  Yes.
 
Rimmer:  GOOD!!!  [his face stretches]
 
[Kryten looks shocked, then the slimy sucker plops onto his forehead.
 A twoshot shows the polymorph sucking the guilt from Kryten.  The real
 Rimmer runs around some corners, and comes behind the creature still feeding.
 He sneaks closer to it, then jumps into a pseudo-karate stance, with a
 "Hah!" shouted.  The polymorph has no reaction.  Rimmer steps back a bit,
 then the creature turns to face him.  Rimmer holds up the back of his
 hands, limp-wristed, then moves his hands, saying "Shoo! Shoo!"  The
 polymorph changes into its small initial form and slinks away, between
 some boxes.  Rimmer approaches Kryten.]
 
Rimmer:  Let's just get Lister and get out of here!
 
Kryten:  It's got my guilt!  I have lost the single emotion which prevents
	 my transgressing the mores, [morays?] and matters of civilised
	 society.
 
Rimmer:  Stop your blithering, Kryten -- come on!  Grab the Cat, and let's
	 go!
 
Kryten:  Oh, screw you, hadronhead!
 
[Rimmer leaves.]
 
 
	[In the medical unit, a spigot is bulging.  Lister is beginning
	 to wake up.  The polymorph makes its way out of the spigot and
	 falls to the floor.]
 
 
	[Rimmer runs down a corridor, but then stops, turning around.]
 
Rimmer:  Where have you been?  Let's go!
 
[Cat staggers around the corner.  His hair is a mess and he carries
 paper sack with a bottle inside.  He wears dirty clothes, including
 an anorak.  His speech is blurred.]
 
Cat:  I've been getting myself comfortable, man.  (staggers beyond Rimmer)
 
Rimmer:  Come on, Kryten!  You're holding us all up!
 
[Kryten rounds the corner, lugging a bazookoid.]
 
Kryten:  Ah, who cares?
 
Rimmer:  You're going to get us all killed!  (rounds the next corner)
 
Kryten:  So?
 
 
	[In the medical unit, a woman's hand, wearing a ring, is toying
	 on Lister's abdomen.  Lister finally wakes up, looks at her face,
	 then lets his head fall back down.  Kryten, Rimmer and Cat enter.]
 
Kryten:  Oh, look!  It's Bonehead's mum.  (laughs)
 
Rimmer:  Mother...
 
Mother:  Hello, dear!
 
Rimmer:  What are you doing?
 
Mother:  Well, what does it look like, darling?  (kisses Lister)
 
Rimmer:  (to Lister)  You've just made love to my mother?
 
Lister:  Yeah.  Do you want to make something of it?
 
Holly:  It's not your mother -- it's the polymorph!
 
Rimmer:  (half shouting)  You've just had my mum?
 
Mother:  Five times!  He was like a wild stallion!
 
Kryten:  Very prim ... very proper ... almost austere!  (laughs)
 
Holly:  Don't fall for it, Arn -- it's trying to make you angry!
 
Mother:  Darling, I wish you could have seen him in action.  He was like
	 a set of pistons in an ocean liner engine room.
 
Rimmer:  (turning)  I think I'm going to be sick.
 
Holly:  Don't get angry -- that's what it wants!
 
Rimmer:  Lister and Mother...  (through grit teeth)  It's a dream come true.
 
Mother:  (sits up to face Rimmer's profile)  He's so energetic!  I honestly
	 thought my false teeth were going to fall out.
 
Rimmer:  How lovely.
 
Mother:  ...the positions he bent me into...
 
Rimmer:  Terrific.  That sounds enchanting.  Well done.
 
Mother:  ...and the things this boy can do with Alphabetti Spaghetti...
 
Holly:  Cool it, Arnie!
 
Rimmer:  ALPHABETTI SPAGHETTI?!!!
 
[The sucker attaches to Rimmer's hologrammatic forehead, just above the `H'.]
 
 
	[Later, all are gathered in the sleeping quarters.]
 
[Cat sits on the floor, drinking out of the bottle.  Most of the drink spills
 down his shirt, but it blends in with previous stains.]
 
Cat:  Where is it now?
 
Holly:  It's gone back down to the cargo bays, sleeping off a four-course
	meal of fear, vanity, guilt and anger.  You'd better get it before
	it comes back for seconds.
 
[Rimmer is wearing a T-shirt which reads, "GIVE QUICHE A CHANCE."  He also
 wears shorts and a wristwatch, and is smoking a pipe.  His face sports a
 goatee and black spectacles.  He speaks with a lot of hand movements,
 fingers together, outstretched.]
 
Rimmer:  Look, just because it's an armour-plated alien killing machine
	 that salivates unspeakable slobber doesn't mean it's a bad person.
	 What we've got to do is get it round a table, and put together
	 a solution package -- perhaps over tea and biscuits.
 
Kryten:  (in Lister's bunk)  Look at him!  You can't trust his opinion --
	 he's got no anger.  He's a total dork!
 
Rimmer:  Good point, Kryten.  Let's take that on board, shall we?  Erm, David?
	 David, do you have anything you want to bring to this forum?
 
Lister:  (carrying a bazookoid on his shoulder and holding the baseball bat)
	 Well, yes, I have, actually, Arnold.  Why don't we go down to the
	 ammunition stores, get the nuclear warheads and then strap one
	 to my head?  I'll nuke the smegger to oblivion!  (butts his head)
 
Rimmer:  Right, well, that's very nice, David.  Let's put that on the back
	 burner, shall we?  Erm, Cat, let's have your contribution ...
	 come on.
 
Cat:  Hey, don't ask me my opinion -- I'm nobody.  Just pretend I'm not here.
 
Rimmer:  That's lovely.  Thank you very much.  Erm, moving on a step -- and
	 I hope no-one thinks that I'm setting myself up as a self-elected
	 chairperson ... just see me as a facilitator -- erm, Kryten, what's
	 your view?  Don't be shy.
 
Kryten:  Well, I think we should send Lister in as a decoy, and, while it's
	 busy eating him alive, we could creep up on it unawares and blast
	 it into the stratosphere.
 
Lister:  Good plan!  That's the best plan yet!  Let it get knackered eating
	 me to death, then you guys could just, like, catch it unawares!
 
Rimmer:  Well, that's certainly an option, David, yes.  Erm, but here's
	 my proposal: Let's get tough.  The time for talking is over.
	 Call it extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard and
	 hit it fast with a major -- and I mean >major< -- leaflet campaign,
	 and while it's reeling from that, we'd follow up with a [whist?]
	 drive, a car boot sale, some street theatre and possibly even some
	 benefit concerts.  OK?  Now, if that's not enough, I'm sorry, it's
	 time for the T-shirts: "Mutants Out" ... "Chameleonic Life Forms,
	 No Thanks" ... and if that's not enough, well, I don't know what
	 will be.
 
Kryten:  Has anyone ever told you that you are a disgusting, pus-filled
	 bubo who has all the wit, charm and self-possession of an Alsatian
	 dog after a head-swap operation?
 
Lister:  Listen, you bunch of tarts, it's clobbering time!  (hits the bat
	 against his head)  There's a body bag out there with that scudball's
	 name on it, and I'm doing up the zip.  Anyone who gets in my way
	 gets a napalm enema!
 
Cat:  I think >everybody<'s right, except me, so just forget I spoke, all
      right?
 
Rimmer:  Erm, I think we're all beginning to lose sight of the real issue
	 here, which is "What are we going to call ourselves?" erm, and
	 I think it comes down to a choice between `The League Against
	 Salivating Monsters' or my own personal preference, which is
	 `The Committee for the Liberation and Integration of Terrifying
	 Organisms and their Rehabilitation Into Society'.  Erm, one
	 drawback with that -- the abbreviation is `CLITORIS'.
 
Lister:  Look, it needs killing!  If that means I have to sacrifice my
	 life in some stupid pointless way, then all the better!
 
Kryten:  Yes! Why not?  I mean, even if it doesn't work, it'll still
	 be a laugh!
 
Lister:  Right, so let's just cut all of this business (he moves his fingers
	 around the bat in a mouth-talking way), and get on with it!  Last
	 one alive's a wet ponce.  Who's with me?
 
Rimmer:  Well, the car stickers aren't ready until Thursday, but sometimes
	 one just has to act spontaneously.  People, let's go.  (follows
	 Lister out)
 
Cat:  (standing)  Hey, I'm coming, too.  Maybe I can bum some money off him.
 
Kryten:  Maybe if I hand you guys over, it'll let me go.  MOVE IT, SUCKERS!
 
 
	[Later, the polymorph moves through the cargo bay.  At a `T'
	 intersection, Lister jumps in, then whips the baseball bat
	 around each side of him a few times, then misses, sending
	 the bat impacting between his legs.  He staggers for a bit
	 then begins to walk as the others fall in behind him.  Rimmer
	 is holding a sign which reads `CHAMELEONIC LIFE FORMS NO THANKS'.
	 He's singing a "Love Everybody; Peace; Love" song.]
 
Lister:  Come on, you chicken.  Show us your slobbery chops, and we'll blow
	 them off.
 
Kryten:  Here they are -- nice juicy humans!  Come and get them!
	 Heeere, muty mutant!
 
[The polymorph continues wandering around the aisles.  The foursome stand
 looking down an aisle as the creature stands to its full height behind
 them, unnoticed.  Lister uses his baseball bat to open the door, and the
 energy balls fired earlier zoom out.  The foursome duck, and the balls
 fly to and detonate on the polymorph.  Bits of the polymorph fall on
 the foursome, as they suddenly have regained their lost emotions.  They
 stand up.]
 
Cat:  Phewee!  What am I wearing?
 
Kryten:  Oh, how can you ever forgive me, sirs?  Naturally, I will commit
	 suicide immediately.  (sticks his bazookoid barrel in his mouth)
 
Lister:  (pulls Kryten's bazookoid away)  Hey... We were all a bit whacked
	 out there.
 
Rimmer:  You can say that again.  (looks at his pipe)
 
Cat:  Come on -- let's go and clean up.  If I don't get into some
      co-ordinated evening wear, I'm going to have to resign my post
      as Most Handsome Guy on the Ship.
 
[Cat leaves, followed by Kryten, Rimmer and Lister.]
 
 
	[The pod from which the polymorph came still spins in space, and
	 another sign is seen on it: "CONTENTS 2"]
 
 
	[Down the cargo bay, the group walks in line: Cat, Kryten
	 Rimmer, Lister and Lister.  The second Lister stops, looks
	 into the camera, smiles, giggles, roars, and turns into
	 the eight-foot slimy creature.  Its sucker reaches toward
	 the viewer.]
 
	{Ending theme and credits begin.}
 
Rimmer				It's cold outside
 CHRIS BARRIE			There's no kind of atmosphere
				I'm all alone
Lister				More or less
 CRAIG CHARLES			Let me fly
				Far away from here
Cat				Fun fun fun
 DANNY JOHN-JULES		In the sun sun sun
 
Holly				I want to lie
 HATTIE HAYRIDGE		Shipwrecked and comatose
				Drinking fresh
Kryten				Mango juice
 ROBERT LLEWELLYN		Goldfish shoals
				Nibbling at my toes
Genny				Fun fun fun
 FRANCES BARBER			In the sun sun sun
 
Young Rimmer			Fun fun fun
 SIMON GAFFNEY			In the sun sun sun
 
Mrs Rimmer
 KALLI GREENWOOD
 
Music			-- HOWARD GOODALL
Unit Manager		-- JANET SMITH
Graphic Designer	-- MARK ALLEN
Camera Supervisor 	-- DAVE FOX
Vision Mixer 		-- SONIA LOVETT
Technical Co-Ordinator	-- TONY SMITH
Prop Buyer		-- STELLA McINTYRE
Visual Effects Designer	-- PETER WRAGG
Videotape Editor	-- ED WOODEN
Assistant Floor Manager	-- DONA DiSTEFANO
Production Assistant	-- CHRISTINA HAMILTON
Production Manager	-- MIKE AGNEW
Costume Designer	-- HOWARD BURDEN
Make-Up Designer	-- BETHAN JONES
Sound Supervisor	-- TONY WORTHINGTON
Lighting Director	-- JOHN POMPHREY
Designer		-- MEL BIBBY
Associate Producer	-- GILLY ARCHER
Executive Producer	-- PAUL JACKSON
Production		-- ED BYE -- ROB GRANT -- DOUG NAYLOR
 
A Paul Jackson Production for BBC North West
(C) MCMLXXXIX
 
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