Created by Rob Grant & Dough Naylor, Written by Dough Naylor, Paul Alexander

Rimmer: Gentlemen, thank you for attending the meeting. Now, let me begin by saying that it can't have escaped anyone's attention that things have been getting rather strained around here of late. It's no secret that morale is on the floor. We've lost all trace of Red Dwarf, tempers are strained, and supplies are low. So, I've decided, if it's all right with you, to appoint myself morale officer, and set myself the task of raising the spirits and improving the atmosphere all 'round. Now, to kick off, I thought it would be productive if we all met once a week and have a coffee or a beer, whatever's your poison, and get any problems we may have off our chests. Any objections?

Kryten Sounds like a very good idea, sir.

Rimmer: Well, as it's week one, why don't I start? Do you know what it is about Lister that really makes me want to puke? That really makes me want to stab him in both eyes with an icepick? Everything, that's what. Especially his godawful chirpy gerble-faced optimism. And as for the Cat, what an unbelievable git. And Kryten, if he doesn't change pronto, I swear I'll attach jump-leads to his nipple-nuts and fry him like a cajun catfish. Well, I think that's cleared the air. I don't know about you but I certainly feel better. And thank you for your contributions, gentlemen. See you at next week's morale meeting. Marvellous! (Goes up the stairs)

Lister: Good meeting.

Cat: What's eating him?

Kryten: Well, I'm no psychologist, sir, but maybe the bleak lonely pointless emptiness of our hopeless futile predicament is beginning to get to him.

Cat: You can always tell when he's tense. The way he scrunches up a cup and throws it in the bin. And we're not talking styrofoam here. We're talking enamel.

Lister: And he attacked me with that fridge.

Kryten: What happened?

Lister: He just wrenched it off the wall and tried to insert it in me.

Kryten: What did you do to upset him?

Lister: Absolutely nothing. I was just sitting there minding my own business, plucking out my lengthier nostril hairs, preparing to cook [eggs donalds]

Kryten: Extraordinary. It's so unprovoked.

Cat: The guy's so touchy. If I tried to force-feed you a refrigerator every time you did something gross, you'd have to go on a fridge-free diet.

Lister: You know what the problem is. Every day it's the same old slot in deep space. No variety. Take Christmas. What did we do Christmas day?

Kryten: Oh, ah, you remember, sir. Christmas day, we were attacked by that pan-dimensional liquid beast from the Mogagon Cluster.

Lister: Maybe that wasn't such a great example. I'm trying to say our lives are dull, repetitive. We never take time out to smell the roses. We never celebrate anything.

Cat: We got nothing to celebrate with, bud.

Kryten: Oh, not true, sir. There's a whole case of that wine I brewed out of urine recyc, just lying there, practically untouched.

Lister: Call me pretentious if you like, but for me, a truly great wine should not leave you with a moustache that you can only remove with turps.

Kryten: Autopilot alert.

Cat: Storm front ahead. Switching to manual.

Lister: It's a big one -- too late to go round! It's right on us!

Kryten: Stellar fog -- tightly-packed particles from an exploded supernova. Our scanners won't be able to penetrate more than a few metres.

Cat: Slowing to minimum.

Rimmer: Gentlemen, absolute concentration til we get through this squall. There could be anything lurking out there.

Cat: Don't worry, bud. If there's anything out there, we'll spot it.

Rimmer: Anyone hurt?

Cat: No, but my pride sure needs mouth-to-mouth.

Kryten: Mr. Lister, sir! He's out cold!

Cat: All stop. Let's get him up to the obs room.

Rimmer: How is he?

Kryten: Not good, sir. Perhaps you'd better look away. I know -- I know you can't stand the sight of blood.

Rimmer: Don't worry, Kryten. It's okay when it's Lister's.

Kryten: Impossible! (draws back in surprise)

Cat: What?

Kryten: Look!

Kryten: Mr. Lister is a droid!

Rimmer: He's a what?

Kryten: There's no doubt about it. He's entirely mechanical, a 3000 series. Made in Taiwan. Look! Look, he has a 24-hour callout number.

Rimmer: I'm sorry, I'm not buying this. I mean, who created him and why? And what's his mission? To rid the universe of chicken vindaloo?

Cat: This doesn't tie up. If he wasn't human, I'd have known by his scent.

Kryten: X-rays confirm it.

Kryten:; This is so strange. Mr. Lister's always been an icon of mine, and now I found he's an earlier model, and technically I outrank him.

Rimmer: An earlier model? Then how come he looks so much more sophisticated than you?

Kryten: Sir, just because I have a head shaped like a freak formation of mashed potatoes does not mean that I am unsophisticated.

Rimmer: Alright then, why does he look more realistically human? Kryten: Humans have always found exact duplicates rather disturbing, sir. The 3000 series was notoriously unpopular. Most of them were recalled. A few slipped the net and went undercover to make new lives in society.

Cat: Do you think he knows?

Kryten: Unlikely. He probably reprogrammed his own memory to escape detection.

Cat: This is going to crack him up, devastate him! Who's going to tell him?

Rimmer: I'll write you into my will if you let it be me.

Kryten: I suggest you leave this to me, sirs. I'll have a talk with him droid-to-droid.

Rimmer: Okay. We'll get going and try to get out of this damn fog before it drains our solar batteries.

Lister: What happened? What hit us?

Kryten: Something in the stellar fog, sir, didn't show up on the scans. Sir, do you remember who your parents were?

Lister: Kryten, you know I don't. I was found under a pool table, in a box.

Kryten: Did anyone ever tell you what was written on that box? Were the words "kit" or "paint before assembly" written on the side? It's just that while you were under, we discovered something rather disturbing about you.

Lister: It's that tatoo on me inner thigh, isn't it? Well, I don't really love Peterson -- he just got me so drunk that I didn't know what I was doing.

Kryten: It's not the tatoo, sir. There's no easy way of breaking this gently. I'm afraid, sir, you are not human. You're a droid.

Lister: I'm a what?

Kryten: You're a mechanical, 3000 series. Technically subordinate to me!

Lister: What does this all mean?

Kryten: Well, in broad terms, I get the front seat in the cockpit, and you're in charge of the laundry!

Kryten; And I want to see creases!

Lister: Kryten, have a heart, man. I'm in major stress-related shock here. [Emotional] overload.

Kryten: You're a droid -- you don't have real emotions. It's just syntha-shock. Now stop thinking like a human and go about your duties.

Lister: Kryten, Why are you being so heartless?

Kryten: Fine, I'll tell you. You encouraged me to break my programming and ape human behaviour. Now I find out you're no better than I! But worst of all, the most bitter pill to swallow, for four long years, I had to hand-scrub the gussets of your longjohns. Now, unless you want to wallow in the eternal fires of Silicon Hell, I suggest you bring a tray of refreshments up to the cockpit, pronto!

Rimmer: What was the jolt?

Cat: It's a mystery, bud. Nothing on the scanners, nothing on visual.

Rimmer: It's like we've gone through some sort of energy pocket. Still, it looks like we're out of it now.

Kryten: Better run a crosscheck and see if this phenomena is mentioned in of our databases.

Lister: Tea, all! Sorry I took so long but I didn't know where anything was.

Kryten: Let me see that tray, please.

Lister: Why?

Kryten: That's "why, Mr. Kryten sir" ... You call those triangular sandwiches? Did you use a z-square? I think not! And the chocolate fingers display is laughable. Don't just pile them higgledy-piggledy onto the plate. Make them into an attractive interlaced log cabin structure or something. This will just not do! Kindly return to the gallery and start again.

Lister: Okay ... sir. (mumbling) This doesn't feel right ... Not right at all ...

Rimmer: What a charlatan all these years.

Cat: Any idea what hit us yet?

Kryten: Wait, wait, here's something. (checks computer) Reports of artificial stellar fogs which contain reality mindfields.

Cat: Reality what?

Kryten: Bubbles or pockets of unreality which when encountered create false realities designed to disorient and drive off potential looters.

Rimmer: From what?

Kryten: It's a defence device fitted to space corp test ships which are fitted with prototype drives so awesome in their power that they have to be safeguarded at all costs.

Rimmer: So we just crashed through an unreality pocket?

Kryten: Which created a false reality making us believe Mr. Lister was ... Oh my ...

Cat: You mean he's not a ...

Kryten: No ...

Lister: Tea's upstairs.

Kryten: Sir, I, ah ...

Lister: What do you think of the picket fence? (Kryten hides his face in shame) I'm not happy with it meself. But I'll go away and do it again if you want.

Kryten: Sir, may I see your arm? (Through the rip in jacket can be seen undamaged skin)

Lister: Smeg! It looks normal -- human!

Kryten: Someone else tell him. (looking as if he could burst into tears) I've got gussets to scrub!

Kryten: I wondered if you felt like a nice cold beer, sir?

Kryten: (frantic voice) Oh sir, how many times can I apologize? I have offered to mince myself. What more can I do?

Lister: Don't worry -- I'll think of something ... probably involving a bowl of water, a poker, a recharge socket, and 4000 volts of direct current.

Kryten: (sounding very worried) Oh! (takes his seat)

Rimmer: This fog's getting worse. I say reverse out now before it's too late.

Cat: I hate to agree with Old Laundry-shoot Nostrils, but he has got a point. The scanners are out and my smell range is practically zero.

Lister: Starbug is small. We can probably pick our way through without hitting any more unreality bubbles. Someone's gone to plenty big trouble to keep space craft out of here, and it's got to be worth finding out why.

Rimmer: But how can we guarantee we'll ---

Cat: We hit one!

Lister: We hit one!

Cat: That's what I said.

Rimmer: Where's the Cat?

Cat: I'm here.

Kryten: They've taken the Cat! He's gone!

Cat: I'm not gone -- I'm here!

Lister: Someone just erased him from existence.

Kryten: Then how come we still remember him?

Rimmer: Remember who?

Kryten: I don't remember.

Cat: Hey buds, don't do this to me! You can't forget me -- I'm unforgettable!

Lister: I don't get this! We're passing through an unreality pocket and everything's normal!

Cat: What do you mean everything's normal? I feel invisible!

Kryten: This doesn't make any sense! All systems check. The three of us are here as normal.

Cat: The four of us! There's four of us! Look! I'm here! Can't you hear me, can't you feel me?

Lister: We're getting some [bumping in]!

Kryten: Passing back into normal space.

Lister: What are you doing?

Cat: Can you see me?

Lister: Of course I can see ya.

Cat: You all forgot who I was. Don't you remember? This is too weird in here. Let's quit while we can.

Lister: What we have to do is keep our heads.

Cat: Boy! This is worse than triple-strength catnip!

Kryten: The pockets are getting denser and closer together. We're never going to ---

Kryten: -- make it!

Rimmer: We can't take much more of this.

Lister: Well, just ignore it. All these unreality pockets are designed to make you feel absurd and disorientated.

Cat: He's right! Let's just keep going and we'll get out the other side.

Rimmer: All ahead stop. We have got to talk. Kryten, how far would you say it is to the epicentre?

Kryten: At our current speed, about another three days, sir.

Lister: (resigned) Okay, you win. Let's get out of here.

Kryten: Perhaps there is one possibility.

Kryten: That's it. I've installed a temporary stasis seal on both deep sleep units, so in theory at least, time will be frozen, and neither reality nor unreality will be able to penetrate.

Lister: See you in three days?

Lister: Where are we? Did we make it?

Kryten: We successfully penetrated the mindfield, sir. We're through to the epicentre.
Rimmer: So what was it protecting? Lister: Derelicts! According to the computer, it's from the 28^th century. And it's capable of time travel?!

Rimmer: Crew?

Kryten: All dead. This was the maiden voyage. They contracted an influenza virus on an incursion to the 20th century. Before they died, they programmed the autopilot for deep space and generated the mindfield to prevent the machine from falling into the wrong hands.

Lister: Does this mean what I think it means? We board it, strip out the drive ---

Lister: -- and bingo! We've got ourselves a time machine!

Cat: Let's see if the sucker works!

Kryten: Sirs, choose any year.

Rimmer: Since we can't guarantee this time drive is going to function properly, I suggest we select a neutral time period for our first jaunt.

Lister: He's got a point. Let's go to someplace nice and safe and dull. How about 1422?

Cat: How about 1421?

Lister: What's the difference?

Cat: No difference. I just wanted to make it look like I was paying attention.

Rimmer: Load 1421, Kryten.

Kryten: 1421 loaded, sir. August 17th. Engaging the time drive.

Lister: Hey, we did it!

Kryten: Indeed we did. All the ship's chronometers indicate that this is August the 16th, in the year 1421, just one day out.

Rimmer: Give us visual. Let's see what it's like out there.

Lister: Okay, punching it up.

Lister: Again? We're still where we were!

Kryten: Of course. We're still in deep space, sir, only now we're in deep space in the 15th century. Isn't it wonderful?

Rimmer: So we're still three million years away from Earth?

Kryten: Well, yeah.

Lister: Taking her back to the present.

Kryten: Keyed in. Engaged.

Rimmer: So ... forgive me if I'm being thicker than the offspring of a village idiot and a TV weathergirl, but what exactly was the point of that little exercise? Fun though it was drinking in the heady medieval atmosphere of pre-Renaissance deep space, the drive is next to useless, yes?

Kryten: Well, at the moment, yes, but should we ever acquire a faster-than-light drive, we will have the combination to travel anywhere and anywhen.

Cat: Picking up a craft.

Rimmer: He's right. Some kind of craft. Small. Here it comes.

Lister: It's a Jupiter Mining Corporation core sign. Some kind of transport vehicle: colour green, lifeforms four ... craft name "Starbug"?!

Cat: Call me crazy, but that all sounds weirdly familiar. Who is it?

Lister: It's us from the future! Hey -- incoming SOS message!

Kryten: Don't punch it up! Close com!

Rimmer: Why?

Kryten: If that vessel is this vessel, sir, it almost certainly contains our future selves. The implications of making contact could be devastating! The human brain is not designed to cope with knowing its own future.

Lister: Yeah, but Kryten, obviously we've been in some kind of major trouble. Otherwise we wouldn't have shown up.

Rimmer: No, Kryten's got a point. It's too dangerous to make contact. What if we discover that one of us is dead? Who could handle that?

Cat: We all could if it was you.

Lister: They're trying us again! Come on, they're in trouble! We can't just leave them out to dry!

Kryten: Well, in that case, sir, I suggest that I am left alone to make contact. I can give them whatever assistance they require, then erase my memory of the entire event.

Kryten: Open com. Present Starbug calling future Starbug. We are ready to communicate.

Lister: Well, how did it go? Everything okay?

Kryten: (very sadly) Mr. Lister, sir ... (hugs Lister) I love you! You know that, don't you? I'd hate you to ... go anywhere without knowing that, sir.

Lister: (after a shocked and worried pause) So what's the SP, Kryts? Can you tell us anything?

Kryten: A little, sir. They are indeed our future selves from some fifteen years hence. (close to tears) What a senseless waste!

Lister: Listen, if something happens to me, I want to know.

Kryten: All I am allowed to divulge is that their time drive has developed a fault, and they can only travel forward. They jumped to a period where they knew we would be in order to copy some components from our own drive.

Cat: So am I actually going to get to meet me? My knees have turned to jelly!

Kryten: Nobody will be meeting anybody. You must be sealed in the upper deck before they set a space boot on board.

Rimmer: So when are they coming?

Kryten: Immediately. I'll serve your supper in the obs room. (very affectionately to Lister) I thought I'd whip you up a nice little curry with jam rolly-polly and a big jug of chilled
margarita.

Lister: They're all my favourites!

Kryten: (almost bursting into tears again) I know!!!

Lister: How can we have margaritas? I thought we were out of tequila?

Kryten: I put a little miniature bottle aside, sir, for ... no particular reason ... And I thought that since today had ... no special significance ... it would be appropriate ... to ...

Lister: Just go, Kryten!

Kryten: Thank you, sir.

Kryten is sadly caressing a bowl and cup.

Kryten: His favourite bowl ... his little cup ... the tin opener he uses to pick his ears clean with ...

Lister: Everything okay?

Kryten: Oh, yup yup. Those darn onions get you every time!

Lister: What onions?

Kryten: Ah, the onions I'm about to peel. I always get a little emotional when I have to deprive an onion of its skin.

Lister: Don't Nixon me, man! Tell me the truth! I die, don't I? I mean, I'm dead, aren't I? I don't make it ...

Kryten: All I'm at liberty to disclose, sir, is that all four members of the Starbug crew will be boarding this vessel.

Lister: Yeah, but I'm not amongst them, right?

Kryten: One of their number is called Dave Lister. Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've already said too much.

Lister: Hang on a minute -- I'm really confused now. Are you saying I survive?

Kryten: I can say no more. Please, let us not squabble on this of all days. (starts to pour chilies into the blender)

Lister: Careful with those chilies, Kryten. At the rate you're going, there'll be none left for tomorrow.

Rimmer: Look, whatever it is, there's nothing you can do about it. It's fate.

Lister: I just don't get it. Am I dead or am I alive? If I'm dead, how can I come on board?

Cat: What precisely are you doing, bud?

Lister: I'm hacking into the security cameras. Kryten turned off all the monitors, so I'm rigging up the mediscan. When those johnnies come on board, I want to see 'em.

Kryten: (into intercom) Docking complete. Opening airlock doors. Gentlemen, welcome aboard.

Kryten: Ah, Mr. Rimmer sir, come in, come in.

Future Rimmer: Did we actually used to live like this? What a godawful depressing little hole.

Future Cat: We're used to the good things in life now, bud.

Kryten: Are you really me?

Future Kryten: Will you take a look at him. Did I really used to look that goofy?

Kryten: What is that you have on your head? I hope you have a quarantine license for it.

Future Kryten: We're time travellers now, and a lot of our business involves going back in history. I have to look incognito. Frankly, I can't afford going around looking like I've swapped heads with a damaged crash dummy.

Kryten: I rather think we're overstepping the bounds of agreed conversation here. Is, um ... Mr. Lister ... did you bring him?

Kryten: Sir, you look terrific. I was expecting something much worse.

Future Lister: Don't worry about me, Kryts, I'm fine. Absolutely dandy.

Kryten: Well, blow me! You've hardly changed at all. If I wasn't told about the accident, I don't think I'd even have noticed.

Lister; Yo, we're in! Oh my god -- look at Rimmer!

Rimmer: Well, I can't have changed much. I'm a hologram.

Lister: Wrong. You're two meals away from being a sumo wrestler.

Rimmer: Let me see!

Cat: Am I there?

Lister: Oh yes.

Cat: What do I look like?

Lister: I can't actually see quite clearly. The light is reflecting from off the top of your head. (covers the binoculars and blinks his eyes to clear them)

Cat: What are you talking about?

Lister: Ha ha! You're as bald as a plucked chicken, man.

Cat: Let me see! Let me see!

Lister: Wait, wait! I want to see if I'm there. I don't seem to be there. Just you two, Kryten ... (looks up in deep shock) Oh my god ...

Cat: What? What is it?

Rimmer: Ohhhhh dear!

Cat: What? Is he fat?

Rimmer: Far from it. He's lost a bit of weight, actually. Actually, he's lost quite a bit of everything.

Lister: What do I do to end up like that?

Cat: That's tragic. That is the saddest thing I've ever seen in my life ... (looks up in dismay) What happened to my butt? Buddy, you could park a plane in that crease. Lister: So what if you're fat and bald. That's what happens when you get older. Look at me -- I'm a brain in a jar!

Cat: Self self self self self!

Lister: We've got to find out what's going on.

Kryten: We've been saving it for a special occasion. And what could be more special than this. To the future!

Future Kryten: To the past!

Future Cat: This is poison, bud!

Future Rimmer: Haven't you anything better than this hogwash? We're used to the best!

Future Kryten: Kryten, we're epicures now. We travel through history enjoying the very best time has to offer.

Future Rimmer: Dolphin sweetmeats, roast suckling elephants, baby seal hearts stuffed with dove pate. Food fit for emperors!

Future Lister: We socialize with all of the greatest figures in history -- the Hapsburgs, the Borgias ...

Future Kryten: Why, only last week, Louis the Sixteenth threw a banquet especially in our honour.

Future Rimmer: The man is a complete delight -- urbane, witty, charming ...

Kryten: He was an idiotic despot who lived in the most obscene luxury while the working classes starved in abject poverty.

Future Rimmer: Well, we certainly didn't see any of that while we were there!

Future Kryten: And his wife's an absolute cutie.

Future Cat: I think they're our favourite hosts. If you don't count the Hitlers.

Kryten: The who?!

Future Rimmer: Providing you avoid talking politics, they're an absolute hoot.

Kryten: You're good friends with the Hitlers?!

Future Kryten: It's just a social thing. We don't talk about his work. We just have a few laughs, play canasta, and enjoy the odd game of mixed doubles with the Goerings.

Kryten: I don't believe what I'm hearing!

Future Rimmer: Look, you have to understand -- we travel back and forth throughout the whole of history, and naturally we want to sample the best of everything. It's just a bit unfortunate that the finest things tend to be in the possession of people who are judged to be a bit dodgy.

Kryten: Herman Goering is a "bit dodgy"! What has become of you all? You've all abandoned your morals, been seduced by power and wealth. All you're interested in now is indulging your carnal desires.

Future Rimmer: And could we tell you some stories about _that_! (the future crew all laugh)

Kryten: I don't recognize any of you! You're just amoral self- serving _scum_, freeloading your way through history!

Future Kryten: Good grief! I can't believe I used to be such a stuck-up pompous prig.

Lister: Okay. That's it. You've got two minutes to get off this ship. I don't know how we became you, but I sure as hell don't intend to help you carry on doing what you're doing. Future Rimmer: But we need to examine the calibration on your time drive's maxic-factor.

Lister: That's one minute forty.

Future Cat: Shooting us would be like killing himself in the future. He won't do it.

Lister: What have I got to lose? I'm in a jar.

Future Rimmer: Gentlemen, let's put an end to this, why don't we? (stands up)

Future Kryten: But without the calibration date, we'll be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.

Lister: Fifty seconds.

Future Cat: C'mon, let's go.

Future Kryten grabs future future Lister's jar and the Future crew head through the airlock. Future Rimmer pauses at the airlock.

Future Rimmer: You'll have changed your mind when you've thought it through. You are destined to become us, and there is nothing you can do about it. In the end, you'll help us.

Lister: Twenty seconds. Into the airlock and git.

Kryten: I knew it would be a mistake to see the future. Now our whole lives will be coloured by the fact that we're going to end up becoming people we despise.

Rimmer: Threat warning -- vessel off the stern! They've got a missile lock on us!

Lister: Our future selves are attacking us!

Cat: They're nuts!

Cat: Direct hit! The gyroscope's out!

Kryten: They're trying to disable us!

Rimmer: Another lock!

Lister: Incoming message!

Future Rimmer: Gentlemen, we have no intention of being deprived of the opulence and luxury the time drive provides. Either you give us access to the data we require, or be prepared to be blasted out of the sky.

Kryten: But if you kill us, you'll have cease to exist.

Future Rimmer: Better that than to be forced to live like you, like rats trapped together, marooned in deep space. Your answer -- thirty seconds.

Cat: So what do we do?

Rimmer: Have we got any chance of winning?

Kryten: Their craft is greatly upgraded. We have no chance whatsoever.

Rimmer: Then I say fight! (dramatic chord of music)

Kryten: Mr. Rimmer?

Rimmer: Better dead than smeg!

Lister: Cheers! Cat?

Cat: Better dead than sofa-side butt.

Lister: Kryten?

Kryten: Better anything than that toupee!

Lister: Shields up! Arming lasers!

Cat: Bringing her around.

Kryten: Target acquired!

Lister: Locking on -- firing! (pushes button)

Rimmer: Direct hit!

Kryten: Starbug thrusters! Nice shooting, sir!

Cat: Bringing her around to reserve.

Rimmer: Threat warning! They've got a lock on us!

Lister: I'm going for the main fuel tank!

Kryten: They're in your sight!

Lister: Locked on -- fire!

Kryten: Mr. Lister!

Cat: Is he okay?

Kryten: (in shock) He's dead, sir!

Rimmer: The hull's gonna go. We'll all be dead in a minute.

Rimmer: CAT!?

Kryten: ... Dead ... But there may be --

Rimmer: Kryten?! There may be a what? A way out of this? Is that what you were gonna say? ... Speak, Kryten! How can we change what's happening?!

TO BE CONTINUED