DEEP MATTER
EPISODE 1
“COMMUNICATION MELTDOWN”
A RADIO SCRIPT
CATEGORY: COMEDY
ANNOUNCER:
(BRIAN BLESSED) Deep Matter, by Mike Stollery, starring Paul McGann as Captain Hake, Richard E. Grant as Number One, and Barbara Windsor as Ensign Charlene Wagstaff. Episode 1 Communication Meltdown.
GRAMS: OPENING THEME (“SPINNING JENNY” BY SKYCLAD)
F/X: AUTOMATIC DOOR OPENS
CHARLENE:
(DREADFUL ESSEX-TYPE ACCENT) ’Ello everybody! Is this the Indestructible? Which one of yer’s the captain?
HAKE:
That will be me. Captain Hake. You must be the new communications officer.
CHARLENE:
That’s right. Ensign Charlene Wagstaff. Pleased ter meet yer. Larvly ship, this. Is it new?
HAKE:
As a matter of fact it is. This is the Indestructible B. The Indestructible A was destroyed in an unfortunate thermionic meta-particle incident. I see the Institute has given you a glowing reference in the field of communications.
CHARLENE:
Yeah. My tu’or sez I ’av the best oral skills ’e’s ever known.
HAKE:
Yes, well. Let me introduce you to the crew. This is Number One.
NUMBER ONE:
(VERY ALIEN VOICE) Welcome aboard, Ensign.
CHARLENE:
Aw please. Call me Sharley. Everybody else does. I like yer earrings.
NUMBER ONE:
Those are my nostrils.
HAKE:
And here we have Ned, the ship’s pilot.
NED:
Hi, Sharley! Delighted to meet you. If there’s anything I can help you with, just ...
F/X: INCOMING CALL TONE
CHARLENE:
Wozzat?
HAKE:
Incoming call.
NED:
Yes, let me show you to your station. You’ll be sitting here, next to me, and you need to touch this sensor here.
CHARLENE:
This one?
F/X: KLAXON
NED:
No, this one.
CHARLENE:
Ah, yes. That’s diff’rent from the one my tu’or said I ’ad ter touch.
F/X: MESSAGE OPENING JINGLE
GENERAL JONES:
(D) Ah, Hake. There you are.
HAKE:
General Jones.
JONES:
(D) You fully operational?
HAKE:
Yes, sir.
JONES:
(D) Good. There’s a spot of bother at Athena 5 Grammar. We’ve received intelligence that a Colloquon ship is on its way to attack the Grammarions. Heard of them?
HAKE:
Nope.
JONES:
(D) Well, the Grammarions are a highly linguistic race and are the custodians of most of the languages spoken in the galaxy. Their texts are up to a million years old and many are deemed sacred. Their recent works are on the analysis, preservation and translation of innumerable languages. They must be protected at all costs. Your orders are to intercept the Colloquon ship and kill everybody on board.
HAKE:
A routine job.
JONES:
(D) Precisely. Now, you will try not to get your new ship blown up, won’t you? Insurance has gone and upped the premiums on this one.
HAKE:
It will be safe and sound.
JONES:
(D) Good. Because I don’t want to be forking out for the excess too. Over and out.
F/X: MESSAGE CLOSING JINGLE
HAKE:
Okay, let’s see what this ship can do. Ned, set a course for Athena 5 Grammar.
NED:
Aye, aye, Cap’n.
F/X: SHIP ACCELERATING
F/X: (CONTINUOUS) BACKGROUND NOISE OF SHIP GOING FAST
NED:
Maximum weft.
HAKE:
Thank you, Ned.
[PAUSE]
CHARLENE:
’Ow long will it take ter get there?
NED:
Oo, about twenty minutes. Half an hour tops.
[PAUSE]
HAKE:
Right. Well.
F/X: CONTINUOUS BACKGROUND DRONE OF SHIP
F/X: INTERCOM SWITCH
HAKE:
Hake to Stringer.
STRINGER:
(D) Captain?
HAKE:
Everything okay in the engines?
STRINGER:
(D) Yup.
HAKE:
Think you can get a bit more out of them?
STRINGER:
(D) Sure.
F/X: INTERCOM OFF
HAKE:
Hmm. Chatty fellow.
F/X: BACKGROUND HUM RISES SLIGHTLY IN TONE
F/X: INTERCOM SWITCH
HAKE:
Hake to Cassidy.
CASSIDY:
(D) Vet Cassidy
HAKE:
Anything to report from the clinic?
CASSIDY:
(D) All quiet here.
HAKE:
Good, good. Let me know if anything happens.
CASSIDY:
(D) Will do, sir. Though no one seems to get ill these days.
HAKE:
Well, that’s good news.
CASSIDY:
(D) I’m just sorting out my scalpel drawer. Do you think I should order them alphabetically?
HAKE:
Yes. Alphabetically sounds fine.
F/X: INTERCOM OFF
HAKE:
E.T.A., Ned?
NED:
’Bout quarter of an hour. Ish. Give or take.
CHARLENE:
Shall I put the radio on?
NUMBER ONE:
Captain, I have been researching into the Colloquons and it would appear that they are not a warrior race. They believe in resolving disputes by going to the pub, having a few drinks and talking complete nonsense until both sides agree that the other is ‘their bestest friend ever’.
HAKE:
I don’t think we need to research the Colloquons, Number One. We only need to kill them.
NUMBER ONE:
They hold little in the way of strong beliefs, other than a profound conviction in the right to eat well, drink well and talk drivel.
HAKE:
Well, soon they won’t even have to worry about that.
F/X: RADIO TUNING IN. ELECTRONIC POP MUSIC. FADE OUT.
F/X: ENGINES SLOWING DOWN.
NED:
Okay. Here we are. Athena 5 Grammar, if I’m not mistaken. And that must be the Colloquon ship straight ahead.
NUMBER ONE:
Captain, I am not detecting any signs of life on board.
HAKE:
What? Our ship or theirs? Ha, ha.
NUMBER ONE:
The Colloquons have either left their ship or are deploying a mitochondrial scan blocker of some technology unknown to us.
NED:
Shall I fire a volley of fissiles at them?
HAKE:
No. If we blow up their ship we won’t know if we’ve killed them. We’re going to have to board them.
CHARLENE:
’Ow are we gonna get on board?
HAKE:
Ned, bring the ship in close and extend the HSBC.
CHARLENE:
Wot’s an HSBC?
NED:
Horizontally Stretchable Boarding Corridor. We just connect it up to their ship and walk through it.
CHARLENE:
Oh, I always wondered wot them fings were called.
F/X: MECHANICAL SOUND OF AN HSBC EXTENDING ...
HAKE:
(MUTTERS) It is written clearly on the sides.
F/X: MECHANICAL CLUNK
NED:
Connection made.
HAKE:
Right, everybody grab a blazer and follow me.
F/X: FOOTSTEPS ALONG A CLANKING METAL FLOOR.
AIRLOCK DOOR OPENING
FOOTSTEPS ENTERING A LESS SONOROUS ENVIRONMENT.
NUMBER ONE:
The refectory, clearly. (SNIFFS LOUDLY.) The crew has recently dined on boeuf bourgignon with dauphinoise potatoes, peas and broccoli. Except one who chose the vegetarian option. The wine is a 67 Chavolian-Nodras, premier cru. The broccoli was slightly over done.
HAKE:
Most mysterious.
CHARLENE:
It’s like they had a big meal then jus’ vanished. Eerie, innit?
NED:
I know what you mean. It’s almost as if they all came into this one room, had a mighty feast, cleared up after themselves . . .
CHARLENE:
. . . done the washing up and wiped down all the tables . . .
NED:
Yeah, and then something happened. Something inexplicable. Something that gave them no time to leave any trace of what happened, or send a signal for assistance, and they all suddenly disappeared.
NUMBER ONE:
You haven’t entertained the possibility that they ate their dinner and went back to their duties?
NED:
Yeah, okay. I suppose I have done that myself before today.
HAKE:
Let’s split up and search this ship thoroughly.
F/X: MANY FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING
FADE
DOOR OPENS
TWO FOOTSTEPS ENTER
HAKE:
Excellent. The bridge.
NUMBER ONE:
Unoccupied.
HAKE:
Very strange. You’d think they’d leave someone here. I mean, anyone could wander in.
NUMBER ONE:
Yes. Luckily, it’s only us.
HAKE:
Was that an attempt at sarcasm, Number One?
NUMBER ONE:
I have been taking a course in rhetoric devices. I am now proficient in irony, pathos and paralipsis too.
HAKE:
Good for you, Number One.
F/X: BUTTONS BEEPING
NUMBER ONE:
According to their inventory a landing shuttle is missing.
HAKE:
How do you do that? Whenever I’m on an unfamiliar ship I can’t even get the lights to work.
NUMBER ONE:
The lights work automatically.
HAKE:
Yes, well, the doors to open.
NUMBER ONE:
The doors also work automatically.
HAKE:
All right, I can’t operate these consoles because they’re all in what I can only describe as foreign.
NUMBER ONE:
That word is alien to me.
HAKE:
Are you doing a course in being a smartarse too?
NUMBER ONE:
I graduated in that.
HAKE:
Oh. I didn’t know that. Or are you just being a smartarse about being a smartarse? I mean, is that part of the course you’re doing now? You know, Number One, it’s just occurred to me that I don’t actually know very much about you even though you’ve been with us for . . . oh, I don’t even know that either.
NUMBER ONE:
What would you like to know?
HAKE:
Erm, I don’t really know. Let’s start off with something simple - something personal. What’s your favourite colour?
NUMBER ONE:
F sharp.
HAKE:
Correct me if I’m wrong, but F sharp is a musical note rather than a colour.
NUMBER ONE:
My senses aren’t as discriminate as yours.
F/X: FADE
NED:
Wow! What an amazing bar!
CHARLENE:
Ooh, innit plush?
NED:
Look! Eight ales on draught! Hey, they’ve got Quasar Number One.
F/X: PINT BEING DRAWN
CHARLENE:
’E’s a funny old fella that Number One, in’ee?. ’E looks diff’rent every time you look at ’im, but it’s still ’im.
NED:
Yeah, you get used to that after a while.
CHARLENE:
Yeah, but you can never quite tell what he looks like, even when you’re looking right at him.
NED:
Particularly when you’re looking right at him. I find it’s easier to see him when you’re not looking at him, if that makes any sense.
CHARLENE:
Nah, not really.
NED:
I suppose it doesn’t. Beer?
CHARLENE:
Wouldn’t mind a cocktail.
NED:
Coming right up.
F/X: BZZZZZZ. SHAKE. POUR.
CHARLENE:
Worrisit?
NED:
I dunno. The labels are all in foreign.
CHARLENE:
’Snice anyway.
NED:
Woh! They’ve got a Gasteroids machine. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid.
CHARLENE:
What’s Gasteroids?
NED:
You’ve never played Gasteroids? Here, let me show you.
F/X: COIN IN SLOT. VIDEO GAME STARTING UP.
NED:
You see all these items of food? You’ve got to shoot them into smaller pieces then eat them. Ready?
CHARLENE:
Ready.
F/X: ASTEROIDS GAME SOUNDS THROUGHOUT . . .
CHARLENE:
Oo, there’s a roast chicken there.
NED:
Shoot it!
F/X: MINOR EXPLOSION
CHARLENE:
Oh, a chicken drum stick’s come off it.
NED:
Eat it.
CHARLENE:
Hey, you can really taste it. ’Ow does it do that?
NED:
I’ve never really stopped to think about it.
CHARLENE:
Watch out for that gateau!
F/X: SHOTS FIRED.
CHARLENE:
Aw, missed.
F/X: SPLAT.
CHARLENE:
Ow! That ‘it me in the face.
GRAMS: GAME OVER.
NED:
Another game?
CHARLENE:
Nah, I’m rather full after that.
NED:
Then you need to play Puke-man and come back to this.
CHARLENE:
You know what this place is lacking?
NED:
Punters. It’s too quiet.
CHARLENE:
Yeah. ’S what I was finkin’.
CREWMEMBER:
(GROANS)
CHARLENE:
Wozzat?
NED:
A punter by the sound of it. Look over here.
CHARLENE:
Oh, ’e don’t look in a good shape.
CREWMEMBER:
Oooh. . . what happened?
NED:
You tell me. What has happened? Where is everybody?
CREWMEMBER:
I don’t feel too good. I think that broccoli was a little over done.
NED:
Ah, one too many Quasar Number Ones, I think.
CHARLENE:
Aw, poor fing. ’Is mates ’ave left ’im be’ind, ’cos ’e’s drunk.
CREWMEMBER:
You grammaryonzzh?
NED:
No. We’re from the Indestructible B.
CHARLENE:
Yeah, we’re ’ere ter ’elp the Grammarions.
CREWMEMBER:
No! The Grammarionsh mus be desh...
F/X: FLUMP!
NED:
Don’t think we’re going to get much more out of him.
CHARLENE:
We’d better tell the captain.
F/X: COMMUNICATOR
NED:
Captain, we’ve found a Colloquon in the bar. He’s a bit worse for wear.
HAKE:
(D) Excellent. Anybody else found any crew?
VOICE 1:
(D) No.
VOICE 2:
(D) No.
VOICE 3:
(D) Nope.
VOICE 4:
(D) Nada.
VOICE 5:
(D) Nuffink.
VOICE 6:
(D) Nay.
F/X: HORSE NEIGH.
HAKE:
Ned, any gen from the Colloquon about the whereabouts of the crew?
NED:
(D) I don’t think he has a clue about the whereabouts of himself. Shall I shoot him?
HAKE:
Not yet. He might be useful when he comes round. We’ll have to assume they’ve gone down to the surface to wreak death and destruction and merry havoc upon the Grammarions. We’re going to have to go down there and track them down. Fortunately, it’s not a very big planet.
NUMBER ONE:
It does have some large boulders they can hide behind.
F/X: SHUTTLE LEAVING SHUTTLE BAY
HAKE:
Right, let’s find the best place to land.
NED:
What about that area there with all the buildings and stuff?
HAKE:
Good idea.
CHARLENE:
Oo, I do ’ope them Grammarions aren’t in any serious bovver.
NED:
Oh, they’re probably just being held hostage by the Colloquons. One or two of them will have been shot to show they mean business. Some of the others will be being tortured as we speak, either to get information out of them or for fun.
CHARLENE:
Oh, how awful.
HAKE:
Yes, well, let’s not dwell on that. I’m sure we’ll be able to rescue all of them . . .
NED:
Some of them.
HAKE:
Well, most of them, and wipe out the Colloquons.
NED:
All of them.
HAKE:
Yes.
CHARLENE:
We studied the Grammarions in our course on wordy languagey stuff. . .
NUMBER ONE:
Linguistics?
CHARLENE:
Yeah, that, and they’re right into all that linguists, you know. Apparently, no Grammarion ’as split an infinitive for over four ’undred years, an’ the last one what did was executed for it. ’E was forced to carve out ’is words correctly on stone tablets and then was pelted to death with ’em. Bit ’arsh, I thought.
NED:
Well, I guess it’s just their way. Coming into land now. Bit dusty, not sure quite what’s down there.
F/X: LANDING SHUTTLE SLOWING DOWN FROM HEIGHT AND SETTLING ON THE GROUND.
F/X: SHUTTLE DOOR OPENS.
GRAMMARION:
Greetings, Captain Hake.
HAKE:
(SURPRISED) Oh! Ah! Aren’t you going to add ‘We were expecting you?’
GRAMMARION:
No, because we weren’t. I was just reading your name badge.
HAKE:
Then greetings ... err... High Consul Lord ... is that a P or a B?
GRAMMARION:
It’s a P.
HAKE:
... Lord Pollock, Custodian Of The, um, Sacred Scrolls Of ... I’m sorry, my eyes aren’t what they used to be...
GRAMMARION:
... of Astragarlyxoningp. Don’t worry, I sometimes get that wrong.
NED:
Shall I shoot him, Captain?
HAKE:
No, Ned. These are the Grammarions.
NED:
Oh, then greetings your Lordship. My name is...
GRAMMARION:
Ned Smithers, pilot of the Indestructible B.
NED:
Er, yes.
GRAMMARION:
I was saddened to hear about the Indestructible A.
NED:
Yeah, well. It was just one of those things.
CHARLENE:
’Ere, ’ow come your mouf matches wot your saying?
NED:
What?
CHARLENE:
Not yours. ’Is. Look. Say somefing Mr Grammarion.
GRAMMARION:
Well, what would you like me to say?
NED:
Oh, yes. His lips are in perfect sync with his speech!
CHARLENE:
’Ow d’you do that then?
GRAMMARION:
We have developed an enhancement to the Translator that sends neural signals to the speaker’s lips to make them match what the listener hears.
CHARLENE:
But I fought transla’ors transla’ in the listener’s ’ead.
NUMBER ONE:
Presumably, your enhancement performs a translation on output as well as input, but of course, can only do so once it has detected the listener’s language.
GRAMMARION:
Precisely. But there are limitations when it comes to face-to-face multi-language conferences. Would you like us to install it into your Translator?
CHARLENE:
Not ’alf! I ’ate it when it don’t look like my lips are working right. Makes me look like I can’t talk proper.
F/X: GADGET WHIRRING. . .
GRAMMARION:
Whereabouts is your Translator located?
CHARLENE:
Jus’ be’ind me frontal lobe. My tu’or always said I ’ad very nice lobes.
F/X: WHIRRING INCREASES IN PITCH. . .
GRAMMARION:
Ah, yes. There it is.
F/X: WHIR INCREASES BEYOND THE AUDIBLE SPECTRUM.
GRAMMARION:
There. How’s that?
CHARLENE:
Oo! An’ it makes wot I hear tons more clearer too! [ZAP!] Ow! Wozzat? [ZAP!] Ow!
GRAMMARION:
Another enhancement. The upgrade will also administer a shock if the user makes a grammatical error.
CHARLENE:
Bleedin’ ’ell! [ZAP!] Ow! What’s the point of that?
GRAMMARION:
It encourages good and proper speech.
CHARLENE:
But that’s stupid. Even simple transla’ors can correct a gramma’ical mistake, innit? [ZAP!] Ow!
GRAMMARION:
The user shouldn’t make grammatical mistakes in the first place. This upgrade will force people to speak properly instead of lazily relying on the Translator to correct everything for them. Integration with alien species has made everybody’s speech sloppy. I was talking with a Vernaculon the other day, who just made grunting noises and expected his Translator to work out what he was trying to say.
HAKE:
And did it?
GRAMMARION:
Yes, but that’s not the point. If this behaviour continues, all races are going to lose the power of speech altogether.
CHARLENE:
This is well bogus. [ZAP!] Ow!
HAKE:
Get it out of her head immediately.
GRAMMARION:
No. this upgrade is to be spread to all races. It will enforce correct speech on all planets, under pain of death if necessary. The pain will gradually increase if the user shows no improvement in their grammar, until they eventually die.
HAKE:
This is monstrous. You must stop this project.
GRAMMARION:
No, captain. You must help us spread the upgrade. Sergeant Pastard, install the upgrade in the captain’s Translator.
PASTARD:
Yes, your lordship
F/X: GADGET WHIRRING. . .
HAKE:
No, stop this!
NED:
Stop right where you are, Grammarion! Or you’ll get a load of this, with or without grammatical mistakes.
GRAMMARION:
(ENIGMATIC VOICE) PUT THE BLAZER DOWN.
NED:
(TRANCE-LIKE) I am putting the blazer down.
F/X: SOUND OF BLAZER DROPPING TO GROUND.
HAKE:
What is this? Some sort of mind control?
NUMBER ONE:
No, captain. He is using only the powers of persuasion. The Grammarions are clearly capable of employing their linguistic skills and using precisely calculated inflexions to force the listener to act against their own will, presumably by tapping directly to the resonant frequencies of the synaptic connections of their neural pathways.
GRAMMARION:
Yes, and you would do well not to forget that, Captain Hake. Our conversation from now on could be pivotal in determining whether General Jones will be commissioning the Indestructible C.
HAKE:
Where are the Colloquons?
GRAMMARION:
The Colloquons have been helping us with our research.
DISTANT SOUND OF DRUNKEN SINGING GETTING CLOSER
COLLOQUONS:
(SINGING DRUNKENLY) Ssshow me the way to go hoooome..... I’m tired and I wanna go to bed....
GRAMMARION:
Most of the Colloquons have been helping us with our research.
COLLOQUON #1:
‘Ello, Pollock! Oo-er yer frenz?
COLLOQUON #2:
Yor me beshtesh fren, Pollock. Me beshdesh fren in the universe.
GRAMMARION:
Stop slobbering over me.
COLLOQUON #1:
’Ere. Have a swig of thish. It’sh good shtuff.
F/X: BODY FALLS TO GROUND.
GRAMMARION:
Pastard, pick up that inebriated Colloquon. Guards, take them away and lock them up.
COLLOQUON #1:
Ah’m awright. Ah can get up — hic! ’Scuse me, I think that broccoli was a bit over done.
NED:
As is that running gag.
PASTARD:
Come on. Let’s be having you now.
F/X: SEVERAL PUNCHES.
BODIES FALL TO FLOOR.
COLLOQUON #1:
Follow me! Run!
F/X: MANY FEET RUNNING.
THEY RUN QUITE SOME DISTANCE, CHANGING DIRECTION A COUPLE OF TIMES.
COLLOQUON #1:
In here!
F/X: SQUEAKY DOOR OPENING.
HAKE:
Where are we going?
COLLOQUON #1:
Down.
F/X: FOOTSTEPS HURRYING DOWN METAL STAIRCASE
COLLOQUON #1:
They won’t follow us down here.
NED:
Why not? Is it a sacred place, or a hazardous environment for their species?
COLLOQUON #1:
No. We gave them the slip.
HAKE:
You seem to have sobered up quickly.
COLLOQUON #1:
Yes. We came here with the intention of negotiating with the Grammarions over a few drinks and dissuading them from proceeding with their plan to impose strict grammar practices on other races.
COLLOQUON #2:
The Grammarions must be dissuaded!
COLLOQUON #1:
Thank you, Nubbock. They have no pubs here so we brought along plenty of barrels of beer. However, they tricked us and only pretended to drink the beer. Once we’d drunk ourselves into a stupor there was nothing to stop them carrying out their plan.
HAKE:
But you’re okay now?
COLLOQUON #1:
Yes, we had to employ our emergency procedure. To drink ourselves sober.
NED:
You drank yourselves sober?
NUMBER ONE:
It is theoretically possible. I have heard of several cases in which this technique is said to have been employed.
COLLOQUON #1:
Well, we Colloquons have mastered it down to a fine art. But we only ever do it in dire emergencies. That little performance up there was just a diversion to give us the chance to wallop them and get you out of there quick. You were in grave danger.
HAKE:
So, what is this place?
NUMBER ONE:
It would appear to be to be some sort of facility for developing new technology. I suspect that the Grammarions have been using it for performing experiments during their research into their Translator enhancements.
HAKE:
Thank you, Number One, but I was asking our Colloquon friend here.
COLLOQUON #1:
No, your Number One Officer is correct.
HAKE:
Oh, he’s not my Number One Officer. Number One is his name. I’m not entirely sure what his job is.
WEEBLE:
Enforced grammar
Amongst all the planets.
Galactic woe to all.
CHARLENE:
What was that?
COLLOQUON #1:
A dire emergency. Down here are kept the poor souls that the Grammarions practised on for their research. Many of the experiments failed with disastrous consequences. This poor Weeble can now only speak in haiku.
WEEBLE:
A terrible blight
My speech is impaired
I can never tell another limerick again.
ANOTHER GUINEA PIG:
Things are far from fine for those that they violated through foul vivisection.
COLLOQUON #1:
His speech is restricted to tongue twisters.
CHARLENE:
This is dreadful. And what about the cute little green guy with the ears?
COLLOQUON #1:
A once noble warrior and a great spiritual leader. Now he cannot get his word order correct.
YODA:
Be stopped the Grammarions must.
HAKE:
I agree. We must not allow them to take this technology off this planet. What’s behind this green door? I’m sure it wasn’t there a moment ago.
COLLOQUON #1:
What green door?
HAKE:
This one.
F/X: DOOR HANDLE PUSHED AND DOOR SWINGING OPEN
CHARLENE:
(FADING) ’Ere, where’s ’e goin’? [ZAP!] Ow!
F/X: DOOR CLOSING.
BING:
Captain Hake, do take a seat.
HAKE:
What is this place? It looks like my old kitchen from when I was a child.
BONG:
It is an illusion of a familiar scene, to help put you at your ease. You are no longer in your normal reality.
HAKE:
Who are you people?
BING:
We are here to tell you something very important. Well, to be precise we aren’t actually here. We can’t transport ourselves to here, at least not in the time we have available.
HAKE:
Hey, that’s my picture of my teacher, Miss Foster, on the fridge! Where did you get that?
BONG:
We didn’t. It isn’t actually here. It’s an illusion.
HAKE:
Oh, and here’s my model of the Utterly Invincible Mark Three. You know, this was the first ship to break the . . .
BONG:
Yes, can we get on, please? We really haven’t much time.
BING:
We are here from the Board of Interstellar and Native Galactic Overseers, or BINGO.
HAKE:
Never heard of it.
BING:
Well, you wouldn’t. It exists outside your galaxy. So, as you probably know, your galaxy and the Andromeda galaxy are heading towards each other, and eventually they will . . .
HAKE:
Woh! Look at that! My Gran’s old rocking chair! I installed a repuls-O-beam into that to make it levitate. Set it a bit too strong at first and it shot her up in the air, bashing her head against the ceiling. Look, you can still see some blood stains. You guys have really gone in for the detail here.
BING:
Please, please. We haven’t got very long before the portal closes.
BONG:
I told you we should have just brought him to a bare cell with a rickety chair and an anglepoise lamp.
HAKE:
Sorry. You were saying. Go on, galaxies.
BING:
Thank you.
F/X: RATTLING NOISES OF A TOY BEING PLAYED WITH . . .
BING:
Well, there are beings from the Andromeda galaxy, and a pretty shady lot they are too, that want to fill up the supermassive black hole in the centre of your galaxy . . . will you put the ship down!
F/X: MODEL DROPPED ON TABLE.
HAKE:
Sorry. I was paying attention. Honest.
BING:
Then, what was I saying?
HAKE:
Er . . . something about a black hole?
BING:
I know you don’t understand the full gravity of the situation, but you have to realise that you are in great danger.
HAKE:
Yes, I know. But I’m sure I’ll be able to wriggle my way out of it. I always do.
BING:
Not just you, you nincompoop.
HAKE:
Well, yes, of course, my crew too. And the thingaty-wotsits that we’re trying to save.
BING:
I’m not talking about whatever’s going on outside that door. I’m talking about your entire galaxy.
HAKE:
I know. Everybody’s going to be forced to speak properly!
BING:
Oh, for Pete’s sake!
HAKE:
Pete? Who’s Pete?
BONG:
Do not question the Almighty Redeemer, Pete.
BING & BONG:
(TOGETHER, CHANTING) Hail, all glorious Pete. We are not fit to smell your feet.
F/X: HAND CLAPS. FOOT STOMPS. BELL DING.
BING & BONG:
(TOGETHER, CHANTING) Ommmmmmmm.
HAKE:
Okay, I can see you’re very busy. I really shouldn’t take up any more of your time.
BING:
We haven’t finished with you yet.
BONG:
We’ve scarcely started, and it’s nearly time to go. I’m not sure he’s the right man for the job.
BING:
Yes, I’m beginning to think he hasn’t got what it takes.
BONG:
The man is a complete numpty.
HAKE:
Hey, I resent that. I’m the captain of the Indestructible B. You don’t get there by being a numpty. I’ve battled with Fargnots, Zlarbatons, Grizzletops, Dingbats and Mongolians. I’ve rescued planets from plagues, invasions, cheese shortages and unsolicited PPI claims calls. I’ve gone through hell and high water, been beaten, shot at, captured, tortured, insulted - you wouldn’t believe some of the things the Scornions can say. I’ve lost many a friend and colleague and crew members whose names I can’t remember right now. I’ve lost my wife because I could never get home in time for tea. I’ve even had my spaceship blown up, though I hasten to add that that simply was not my fault in any way whatsoever. At all.
BING:
Last . . .
HAKE:
(INTERRUPTING) And they agreed at the hearing, I’ll have you know!
BING:
Last chance then. Back to this galaxy thing.
HAKE:
Yes. You were saying something about filling up the supermassive black hole. Hang on, you can’t fill up a black hole. They just swallow everything.
BING:
That depends on what you put into them. In this case they’re going to fill it with deep matter.
HAKE:
Deep matter? What’s that?
BING:
You haven’t discovered deep matter yet?
HAKE:
Not to my knowledge.
BING:
Well, I’ll try not to put any spoilers on your research, but you do need to know that if your supermassive black hole gets filled with deep matter, it will disappear and will no longer be able to hold your galaxy together. The stars will disperse and the galaxy will disintegrate.
BONG:
Nearly time. The portal is about to close.
HAKE:
Disintegrate? What’s this all about?
BING:
I’m sorry, we’ve run out of time. We’ll try and get back to you later. You must go back out through the door. Now.
HAKE:
But, but, what . . .
BING:
Out! Now!
HAKE:
Okay, okay. I know when I’m not welcome.
F/X: DOOR OPENS. DOOR CLOSES.
BONG:
(FADING) Perhaps we should find someone else next time.
NED:
You all right, Captain? Where did you go?
HAKE:
Oh, er, I just had a quick look in that room there.
NED:
There isn’t a room there.
CHARLENE:
You look a bit pale. Do you wanna sit darn?
HAKE:
No, no. I’m fine. Now, where were we?
NED:
We were working out how to stop the Grammarions getting away with their deadly technology.
F/X: RUMBLE OF LANDING SHUTTLE TAKING OFF
HAKE:
What was that?
COLLOQUON #1:
It sounded like our landing shuttle taking off. The Grammarions don’t have any space craft of their own. They must have stolen ours. Nubbock, didn’t you put the parking lock on?
COLLOQUON #2:
Ah.
HAKE:
Then we’re all going to have to get into our shuttle and get after them. Ned, I trust you put our parking lock on?
NED:
Ah.
NUMBER ONE:
Don’t worry. I did.
F/X: MANY FEET CLAMBERING UPSTAIRS
HAKE:
(SLIGHTLY BREATHLESS) Right, how many of us are there?
F/X: SHUTTLE HATCH OPENING
NED:
(REGAINING HIS BREATH TOO) The four of us, eight Colloquons and, oo, maybe twenty freed captives.
NUMBER ONE:
The craft is designed to seat only eight.
HAKE:
Some are just going to have to stand.
F/X: SHUTTLE HATCH CLOSING.
ENGINES STARTING
NED:
Is it possible for you to move your leg a bit, Number One? I can’t see clearly out front.
NUMBER ONE:
That is not my leg.
NED:
Well, whatever it is, can you move it please?
F/X: SLURP.
NED:
That’s better. Thanks.
F/X: SHUTTLE TAKING OFF.
FADE.
NED:
Colloquon ship ahead.
HAKE:
Okay, let’s drop these guys off. I can hardly breathe.
F/X: LANDING IN SHUTTLE BAY.
HATCH OPENS.
GRAMMARION:
So, Captain Hake. I see you decided to take up our offer after all.
HAKE:
Damn you! And damn my blazer, I can’t reach it. Can anyone reach a weapon?
ALL:
(VARIOUS MUMBLES AND SHUFFLES INDICATING THEY CANNOT. )
GRAMMARION:
If you could step this way, Captain.
HAKE:
(SQUASHED) If I could... Nnngggg!
Ned! Full reverse, quick!
F/X: HATCH CLOSES.
SHUTTLE ZOOMS OFF.
HAKE:
Right, back to the B.
F/X: LANDING IN SHUTTLE BAY.
HATCH OPENS.
SECURITY OFFICER:
’Ullo, Captain. You okay in there?
HAKE:
Ah, Security Officer, er . . . can anyone see his badge?
NUMBER ONE:
It’s Higgins, Captain.
HAKE:
Yes, of course.
SECURITY OFFICER:
Let me try pulling this weeble. (STRAINS.) Ah, no. His leg’s jammed behind this green fella.
YODA:
Trapped behind Communications Officer my arm is.
CHARLENE:
Ooh, I wondered oo’s that was.
SECURITY OFFICER:
I’m going to have to take a couple of panels out. One moment.
F/X: ELECTRIC SCREWDRIVER.
SCREWS FALL TO GROUND.
PANEL FALLS TO GROUND.
BODY FLUMPS OUT.
HAKE:
That’s better. Right, to the bridge.
F/X: FOOTSTEPS.
DOOR.
NED:
Colloquon ship on screen, Captain.
HAKE:
Thanks, Ned. (TO COLLOQUON #1) What armaments does your ship have?
COLLOQUON #1:
There’s a couple of kegs of pale ale left and a barrel of lager.
NED:
I think we could handle that.
F/X: BEEP
CHARLENE:
’Ey, they wanna talk to us.
HAKE:
Put them through.
GRAMMARION:
(D) I strongly advise you to back off and let us get on with our mission.
HAKE:
And I strongly advise you to go home and hand the Colloquons their ship back.
GRAMMARION:
(D) You cannot win, Captain Hake. General Jones has ordered you to destroy the Colloquons.
HAKE:
How do you know that?
GRAMMARION:
(D) Because I told him to. (ENIGMATIC VOICE) YOU MUST OBEY THE GENERAL.
HAKE:
Charlene, play back General Jones’s order.
CHARLENE:
Sure thing.
F/X: CASSETTE TAPE REWINDING.
CLICK.
GENERAL JONES:
(D) (PLAYBACK) ... intercept the Colloquon ship and kill everybody on board.
HAKE:
Do it, Ned.
GRAMMARION:
(D) No, wait!
NED:
Firing fissiles.
F/X: FISSILES LAUNCHING.
EXPLOSION.
HAKE:
What was that?
NED:
Oh, it’s an Audio Interpreter. I added it to the weapons system. It analyses the screen content and constructs a soundtrack based on what we would hear if there was some air for the sound waves to propagate along. In this case it creates the sound of a spaceship exploding. Think it’s a bit childish?
HAKE:
No . . . I rather like it. It makes you feel like you’ve blown up a spaceship.
NED:
Yes, I always felt that it didn’t seem quite right watching an explosion on the screen and not hearing it.
HAKE:
Is it possible to add a shockwave which makes the ship judder a bit afterwards?
NED:
I’ll look into it.
HAKE:
Anyway, mission accomplished. Well done, everybody. I don’t know about you but I feel rather smug. Do you feel smug, Ned?
NED:
Oh yes, sir. Very smug.
HAKE:
Number One?
NUMBER ONE:
I am currently experiencing 137 different emotions, 50 of which are unknown to you. Smug is second from the bottom, slightly above imperious.
CHARLENE:
Aw, I feel sorry for them Grammarions now. [ZAP!] Owwww!
HAKE:
Oh, go to the clinic and get that thing removed.
F/X: DOOR.
CHARLENE:
’Ello, is this the clinic then? [ZAP!] Ow!
CASSIDY:
Yes. I’m Vet Cassidy.
CHARLENE:
Vet? Aren’t you a doctor?
CASSIDY:
I have to attend to the medical needs of many different species, so technically I am not a doctor. I am a vet.
CHARLENE:
Well, I’ve got this...
F/X: GADGET WHIR . . .
CASSIDY:
Ah, I see. Translator enhancement designed to administer pain upon detection of a grammatical error. Soon have that out.
F/X: INCREASE GADGET WHIR . . .
CASSIDY:
Nice lobes, by the way.
CHARLENE:
Fanks.
F/X: INCREASE GADGET WHIR FURTHER THEN STOP.
CASSIDY:
There. Better?
CHARLENE:
I’m not sure. I don’t feel any different.
CASSIDY:
Well, try saying something that’s grammatically incorrect.
CHARLENE:
What would you like me to say?
CASSIDY:
Oh, anything. Just so long as it’s wrong.
CHARLENE:
Whar abaht dis?
CASSIDY:
That’s just bad pronunciation. Not strictly grammatically incorrect.
CHARLENE:
Okay, this orange is really an apple.
CASSIDY:
That’s a semantics issue, not grammar.
CHARLENE:
It’s really ’ard ter do this when you actually need ter.
CASSIDY:
Tell you what. See how it goes and come back if it happens again.
CHARLENE:
All right. Fanks, doctor.
CASSIDY:
Vet.
CHARLENE:
Sorry, vet. ’Ere, wouldn’t these scalpels be better in order of size? Easier ter find.
GRAMS: CLOSING THEME AND CREDITS
NED:
Well, we finally put paid to those cunning linguists.
HAKE:
I was hoping we could complete this mission before that old gag came up.
NED:
We just did.
HAKE:
Oh.
END