Watch My Dreams

The SIMULANT CAPTAIN's face appears on the monitor.

SIMULANT CAPTAIN: 

We have made some improvements to your craft.  

Now at least you may prove to be of some small amusement.

SIMULANT LIEUTENANT: 

You have two Earth minutes before we attack.

RIMMER: 

Let's get out of here.

CAT: 

Wait, I know This Game.  

It's called Cat and Mouse, 

and there's only one way to win -- 

Don't Be The Mouse.

LISTER: 

What are you saying?

CAT: 

I'm saying, 

The Mouse never wins.  

Not unless you believe those

  lying cartoons.  

We Don't Run, We Strike.  

It's The Last Thing They'll Be Expecting.

RIMMER: 

No, The Last Thing They'll Be Expecting 

is for us to turn into ice-skating mongooses 

and to dance The Bolero.  

And your plan makes

 about as much sense.

LISTER: 

I Say "Go with it."

KRYTEN: 

Agreed.

CAT: 

You're gonna go with one of my plans?  

Are you nuts?  

What happens if we all get killed?  

I'll never hear the last of it!

13 Model Shot.

Starbug pivots in flight 

and fires it's new laser cannons into the side

of the simulant ship.

14 Int. Simulant Ship.

The simulants look worried.

SIMULANT CAPTAIN: 

What are They doing?  

Power up The Weapons!

15 Int. Starbug Cockpit.

LISTER: 

Nailed Them.

16 Int. Simulant Ship.

SIMULANT LIEUTENANT: 

Fluke hit.

SIMULANT CAPTAIN: 

Take them with Us.

SIMULANT LIEUTENANT: 

Can't return fire.

SIMULANT CAPTAIN: 

Hack into their navigation computer.  

Transmit 

The  Armageddon Virus.

17 Int. Stabug cockpit.

The NaviComp starts to spark.

LISTER: 

What is it ?

KRYTEN: 

The NaviComp, something's wrong.

SIMULANT CAPTAIN: 

(On screen) 

See you in Silicon Hell.

18 Model Shot.

The simulant ship explodes.

19 Int. Starbug Cockpit.

KRYTEN: 

Shutdown all network links.  

The navicomp has been infected with 

A Virus.

LISTER: 

The NaviComp has frozen us out, 

we're locked on this course.  

If we carry on ahead at this speed, 

how long before we hit Trouble?

RIMMER: 

Well if you define 'Trouble' as a rather large moon 

directly in our path, about 38 minutes.

KRYTEN: 

Sir, The Only Solution is for me to 

contract The Virus myself,

  analyze it's structure 

and 

attempt to create a software antidote 

before it wipes out my core program.

Do I have your permission to sacrifice myself, sirs?

RIMMER: 

Do Lemmings like cliffs?  

Granted!

KRYTEN: 

I am going to have to create 

A Dove Program.

CAT: 

Dove program?

KRYTEN: 

A Dove Program spreads Peace through The System, 

obliterating the viral cells as it goes.

KRYTEN puts on head sensors 

and contracts the virus from the navicomp.

KRYTEN: 

The Virus is extremely complex.  

I will have to dedicate all my

  run-time to its solution.  

Shutting down all non essential systems.

LISTER: 

Is there anything we can do?  

Can we help?

KRYTEN: 

WATCH MY DREAMS.

*******

CAT: 

Wait, we're getting something.

21 Ext. Streets Of Laredo. Day.

The Monitor clears and KRYTEN is shown, 

dressed as a Sheriff in an 1800's

Western town.  

He is Drunk.

He throws an empty whisky bottle away 

before pausing before a wanted poster 

of the Apocalypse boys 

and entering a saloon.

22 Int. Ops Room.

CAT: 

What is This?

LISTER: 

I think we've tapped directly into 

whatever passes for Kryten's sub-concious.

CAT: 

Why is he A Sheriff in Some Old Western?

Because The Sheriff is allowed to Kill People -- 

Under Certain Circumstances.

Unlike A Policeman, he is 

Hired, Elected and Paid 

by The Community to DO it.

Because They Can't.

And sometimes, on The Frontier,

People Need to be Killed.

LISTER: 

Must be how his core program is coping with 

The Battle against The Virus.

For whatever reason it's converted The Struggle 

into some kind of dream.

23 Int. Saloon. Day.

Busy.  

A PIANO PLAYER plays a honky tonk version 

of Red Dwarf theme :

KRYTEN enters and tries to steer 

his way towards the bar.  

He passes JIMMY - a smooth oaf, 

playing cards with some unruly COWPOKES.

JIMMY: 

Well, well, well Sheriff, fancy seeing 

A Man of your sober disposition 

in a low-down drinking establishment.

KRYTEN: 

Now, now boys, I don't want any Trouble.  

Just doing my rounds.

As KRYTEN steps toward the bar JIMMY trips him up.

KRYTEN: 

You shouldn't ought to have done that Jimmy.

There is a scrape of stools and tables 

and JIMMY stands, hands on guns.

JIMMY: 

Why don't you try it, Sheriff.  

They say you used to be faster

  than a toilet stop in rattlesnake country.

KRYTEN: 

Sorry I tripped over your boot there Mr Jimmy, sir.  Arrrhhheeemm.

  Didn't mean any harm by it.

KRYTEN turns to the bar.

KRYTEN: 

Give me two fingers of your best sipping liquor, Miss Lola, 

and make it the smooth stuff — 

The stuff where you get your eyesight back after two days.  Guaranteed.

JIMMY: 

( Looking out of The Saloon Doors )

The Apocalypse Boys is Here.  

( General Panic, giving way to hushed silence. )

They's asking for you, Sheriff.

KRYTEN: 

I'll be right out.

KRYTEN takes numerous gulps of whisky 

before leaving the saloon to face

The Apocalypse Boys on The Porch.

24 Ext. Streets Of Laredo. Day.

The FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE 

sit menacingly on horseback outside the saloon. 

The bat-wing doors part and a nervous 

KRYTEN emerges swigging from a bottle of hooch.

KRYTEN: 

I don't believe I've had the pleasures, sirs.

DEATH spits out some chewing tobacco, 

which fizzles on the street like acid.

DEATH: 

The Name's Death.  

And These Here're My Brothers.  

Brother War...

WAR laughs and flames shoot out of his mouth.

DEATH: 

Brother Famine...

Fat FAMINE nods and takes a bite of chicken.

DEATH: 

and Brother Pestilence.

PESTILENCE grins, showing horrible broken teeth.  

He swipes idly at the swarm of buzzing flies around his head.

KRYTEN: 

Well, you seem like a nice neighbourly bunch of boys.  

How can I be Of Service?

All FOUR APOCALYPSE BOYS draw, 

shooting KRYTEN's hat off, 

and his bottle from his hand, 

as he dances around trying to avoid the hail of bullets.

Finally the  gunfire stops.

DEATH: 

We want your sorry ass out of Here.  

You got one hour.

DEATH spits a sizzler again, and THE FOUR HORSEMEN turn and gallop under

a dangling sign:  

'YOU ARE NOW LEAVING EXISTENCE'

and as The HORSEMEN

ride under it, They disappear.  

KRYTEN takes off His Sheriff's Star 

and throws it on The Ground.

25 Int. Ops Room.

LISTER: 

He's losing The Battle. 

Look at his lifesigns, they're barely registering.

CAT: 

Isn't there some way we can 

Get in There and Help Him?  

Somehow turn ourselves 

into tiny electronic people 

and get into His Dream?  

Isn't there some sort of gizmo 

lying around someplace that can do that?  

And if not, (slaps table) why not?!

RIMMER: 

Look, I think we've all got something 

we can bring to this discussion.

But I think from now on, 

the thing you should bring is Silence.

LISTER: 

No, no, no, I think he's got something.

CAT: 

Twice in one lifetime!  

When you're hot, you're hot.

LISTER: 

If we link up the Artificial Reality console to Kryten's Mind, 

we should be able to project directly into his dream state 

like it was a normal Computer Game.

CAT: 

What did I tell you?  

We don't even have to leave the room!

RIMMER: 

What about me?

LISTER: 

We'll shut all extraneous systems 

and power up your hard-light drive.

Come on guys, lets get these wagons rolling.

Fuchal

 

LISTER: 

Hey, so where will you go now? Go?

Now that you know Fuchal, 

The Promised Land, does not exist?

Brother SOL :

The Promised Land is not A Planet, Brother.

It's a Place in Your heart.

It's a Way of Thinking. 

The Promised Land is right here.

And as The Scriptures predicted, 

we've been brought here by The God of Our People.

Thank you.

LISTER: 

Aw, thanks, guys.

Brother SOL :

....for introducing Him to Us.

# Rimmer, Arnold Rimmer

# Rimmer, Rimmy 

Rimmer, Rimmy

# Rimmer... #

Oh, my God, I can speak again. 

# Rimmer, Rimmy...

# Rimmer, Rimmy... #

RIMMER: 

I'm a God.

This is gonna look so good on the old CV.

# Rimmer, Arnold Rimmer

# Rimmer, Rimmy

# Rimmer, Rimmy

# Rimmer... # 

It Is Not Going to Be Looked After Terribly Well....

BILL MOYERS: 

When I was growing up, Tales of King Arthur, 

Tales of the medieval knights, 

Tales of the dragon slayers were very strong in My World.

 

JOSEPH CAMPBELL: 

Dragons represent GREED, really. 

 

The European Dragon guards things 

in His Cave, and What He Guards are

Heaps of Gold 

and 

Virgins. 

 

And he can’t make use of either of them,

but he just guards. 

 

There’s no Vitality of Experience,

either of The Value of The Gold 

or of The Female whom he’s guarding there.

“Tonto wheeled the double stretcher down the aisles of body racks, looking for Jimmy Jitterman's body. 

He'd already found Rimmer's; it lay on the stretcher goo-eyed and tongue lolling; but he couldn't find Jimmy's. Thirty minutes passed, and he still couldn't find it. It wasn't here.

He opened the small sound-proofed box, and Jimmy and Rimmer bounced out.

'Your body's not here, Jimmy. They must have auctioned it already.'

'I'll take that one, instead.'

'That's my body,' said Rimmer, firmly.

'Was.'

'Now wait a minute. Me and that body go back years. It has great sentimental value. You can't just take my body.'

'Get him another one.'

'I don't want another one.'

'OK. Don't a get him another one.'

'OK, get me another one.'

The soundwaves bounced back into the box. Tonto unhooked the nearest body to him and slammed it on to the stretcher alongside Rimmer's.

***

When Rimmer opened his eyes, he found himself standing in front of himself, before he remembered Jimmy was in his body, now, and he had a new one.

Rimmer wasn't quite sure how he felt. Pretty peculiar was about the best label he could find.

Seeing Jimmy in his body, standing in a way he would never have stood, his lips twisting his features into an expression he'd never seen before, made him feel an emotion he'd never experienced.

Jealousy was part of it. Anger was there. Frustration, certainly. A large scoop of nostalgia. And the same feeling he'd once had when he lent his mountain bike to his brother Howard, knowing, without evidence, it wasn't going to be looked after terribly well. And strangest of all, a weird kind of 'glowy' feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

'OK, let's get out of here,' Jimmy was saying with Rimmer's voice from inside Rimmer's body. Then Jimmy did something that made Rimmer feel even more peculiar. He was one of those men, macho-bred, who like to stand with their legs apart, one hand over the groin of their trousers, quite openly cupping their testicles.

He felt very odd indeed, watching helplessly as another man idly juggled his own genitalia. Or rather, his ex-genitalia.

Before he could cry out: 'Hey - keep your filthy hands off my goodies,' the swing doors at the far end of the Transfer Suite slammed open, and six armed officers came in, firing.

Rimmer didn't know who to be scared for most: himself or his ex-self.

Jimmy, in Rimmer's body, was standing, almost contemptuous of the guards' barrage, in the middle of one of the aisles, firing off two handguns, stolen from Tonto's victims. He was laughing, too. He was actually laughing. Using Rimmer's vocal cords and Rimmer's laugh. The high-pitched giggle which Rimmer usually reserved for moments of high humour. Hardly appropriate in a pitched battle to the death.

'Out the back!' Tonto was yelling.

'You go,' Jimmy laughed in Rimmer's body. 'I got me some goons to kill!'

'Leave it - you don't stand a chance.'

'Who cares?'

He flicked his guns, Cagney-style, as if the wrist-snapping motion would give the bullets extra speed, and howled hysterically as small explosions of red burst out of the chests of three of the six guards, killing two and earning the third a permanent desk job.

Rimmer cowered, half-dazed in his new body as this fresh horror unfolded in slow motion before him.

Here was the body of Arnold J. Rimmer, gunning down security guards like ducks at an arcade and plainly enjoying it, in full view of three police witnesses.

Now how was that going to look in court?

He wasn't in it, but his body was a cop killer.

This seemingly untoppable horror was then topped by an even more untoppable horror, moments later, and this second untoppable horror was then topped itself by a third, even more untoppable horror less than ten seconds after that.

Something that belonged inside Rimmer's body hit the wall wetly, and Jimmy screeched and spun round, clutching Rimmer's shoulder.

'I've been hit!' he giggled. Then his elbow exploded into a cloud of red mist, spinning him around again. 'Twice!' He snorted laughter-spittle, as Tonto laid down some covering fire and edged towards him.

'Come on, we can still get out.' Tonto grabbed Jimmy and hauled him through the doorway, still firing.

Rimmer stumbled after them.

They dashed down a corridor. Tonto and Jimmy effortlessly accelerated away. Rimmer couldn't keep up. For some reason, running was incredibly painful. But the pain wasn't in his legs, it was in his chest. Just what was this body he'd wound up in? A cardiac victim? A chronic smoker? Then he realized it was because he wasn't wearing a bra, and his large breasts were bouncing madly up and down in front of him.

'Oh my God,' he screamed in a husky female voice, 'I'm a woman!' 

And he was. He was Trixie LaBouch.

What's Happened, Happened, It's An Expression Of Faith In The Mechanics Of The World, It's Not An Excuse For Doing Nothing.

 

RIMMER stands beside the road with his thumb out, his back to the truck, which is approaching backwards. 

The box lying spins around and lifts itself into the open back of the truck.

RIMMER: 

There's a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.

 

TRUCK DRIVER: 

(In backwards speech) Tifl a tnaw uoy fi nwot otni gniog m'i. 

RIMMER: 

Then again, possibly not.

9 Ext. London street.

Shots of traffic in London, running backwards. We hear the conversations inside the van.

RIMMER: (VO) 

HOLLY, what the smeg is going on? 

KRYTEN: (VO) We're going backwards. 

HOLLY: (VO) 

It's perfectly consistent with current theory. Everything starts with a Big Bang, right? And The Universe starts expanding. Eventually, when it's expanded as far as it can, there's a Big Crunch, right? And everything starts contracting. Perfectly possible that time starts running in the opposite direction, as well.

During this last speech, shots of RIMMER and KRYTEN walking forwards in a crowd walking backwards, change leaping into people's hands from a busker's guitar case, a man sucking smoke from the air and putting it back into a cigarette, waist-down shot of a couple walking backwards.

RIMMER: (VO) 

So, is this Earth? 

HOLLY: (VO) 

Oh, it's Earth all right, only Earth where time's going backwards. 

THE ABANDONED

Hey! Working class kid makes good!

The Holy Mother, saved by Cloister the Stupid, who was frozen in time, and who gaveth of his life that we might live.

Who shall returneth to lead us to Fushal, The Promised Land.

And Cloister spake, `Lo, I shall lead you to Fyushal, and there we shall open a temple of food, wherein shall be sausages and doughnuts and all manner of bountiful things.

Yea, even individual sachets of mustard. 

And those who serve shall have hats of great majesty, yea, though they be made of coloured cardboard and have humorous arrows through the top.'

“And Cloister gave to Frankenstein the sacred writing, saying, `Those who have wisdom will know its meaning.' And it was written thus: `Seven socks, one shirt--'" 

And the ark that left first followed the sacred signs, and lo, they flew straight into an asteroid.

And the righteous in the second ark flew ever onward, knowing they were indeed righteous." 

KRYTEN laughs hard, banging his head off the table, then abruptly sobers

up.

KRYTEN:

“Mum”  

I never had a mum.

CAT :

There, there, it's alright, buddy, it's all part of being drunk.

You've been through the happy stage, now you're going through the melancholy stage.

KRYTEN:

Oooooh... everybody should have a mum.

HOLLY:

I never had a mum, neither.

RIMMER: 

Well, you can have mine!  Everybody else did!

LISTER :

I never had a mum either.

RIMMER:

Oh, for god's sake, what's wrong with everyone?!

HOLLY:

Why didn't you have a mum?

LISTER: 

I was abandoned.

KRYTEN: 

Abandoned?

LISTER: 

Six weeks old.  

A cardboad box underneath the pool table.  

I was just abandoned in this pub.

KRYTEN: 

How could anybody do that?

LISTER:

I don't know.  

I never found out.

For a long time, you'll think that you were abandoned, but you weren't, man.  

You were put here to create a paradox, an unbreakable circle.  

With us going 'round and 'round in time, the human race can never become extinct.

We're like... a kind of 'holding pattern'.

LISTER reaches into the box and touches the baby's chin tenderly

I'll see ya, son.

Quietly, LISTER approaches the pool table and, bending down, gently slides the box underneath.  

He steps away

LISTER: 

Does it say what happened to the rest of the Cats? 

HOLLY: 

Holy wars.

 

There were thousands of years of fighting, Dave, between the two factions. 

LISTER:

What two factions? 

HOLLY:

Well, the ones who believed the hats should be red, 

and the ones who believed the hats should be blue.

LISTER: 

Do you mean they had a war over whether the doughnut diner hats were red or blue? 

HOLLY: 

Yeah. Most of them were killed fighting about that. 

It's daft really, innit? 

LISTER:

You're not kiddin’. 

They were supposed to be green.

Go on, Hol. 

HOLLY: 

Well, finally they called a truce, and built two arks and left Red Dwarf in search of Fyushal. 

LISTER:

But there's no such place as Fyushal. 

It's Fiji. 

I mean, how are they supposed to find it? 

“And Cloister gave to Frankenstein the sacred writing, saying, `Those who have wisdom will know its meaning.' 

And it was written thus: 

`Seven socks, one shirt--'" 

LISTER:

That's my laundry list! 

I lined the cat's basket with me laundry list! 

HOLLY:

The Blue Hats thought it was a star chart leading to The Promised Land. 

LISTER: 

Well it wasn't, it was my dirty washin’.

What happened next, Hol? 

HOLLY: 

“And the ark that left first followed the sacred signs, and lo, they flew straight into an asteroid.

And the righteous in the second ark flew ever onward, knowing they were indeed righteous." 

LISTER: 

This is terrible. 

Holy wars. Killing. 

They're just using religion as an excuse to be extremely crappy to each other. 

TOASTER: 

So what else is new? 

 15 Int. Another corridor.

LISTER: 

Cat! Come on, kitty, kitty! Meow ... meow ... come on, kitty ... come on, Cat, the crispies are getting warm ... come on, Cat...

16 Int. Cargo hold.

Everything is covered in dust and cobwebs. 

There's an improvised altar (a filing cabinet with some cat figurines and candles on top), a big statue of Cloister (wearing a doughnut on his head), and a bed, on which an old, blind Cat priest wearing red robes and hat (complete with arrow) lies. 

The other CAT (the one we know) is there too.

CAT: 

Aaaooowww, yeah yeah yeah yeah, (to the figurines on the altar) 

Hey fellas! 

Yes sir, I'm back! 

Feeling good! (To the priest) 

Feed me. 

PRIEST: 

You're always leaving me! 

Where do you go? 

CAT: 

Investigating! 

See, I have these feet-- 

PRIEST: 

I'm dying. 

CAT: 

I'm telling you about my feet! 

My investigating feet. 

PRIEST: 

Don't you hear me?! 

I'm dying. 

CAT: 

Yeah. But I'm telling you about my feet. 

PRIEST: 

Oh, why should you listen to me, a blind old priest that's lost his faith. 

CAT: 

I'm not listening to you. 

I'm trying to tell you about my feet. 

PRIEST: 

What do you care? 

CAT: 

I don't care! 

You're the one who's doing the dying, not me. 

Why should I let it spoil MY evening?

17 Int. Corridor.

The corridor is dusty and cobwebby. LISTER is still looking for the CAT.

LISTER: 

Cat? ... Cat?

He pushes on a grille marked "Supply Pipe 28" and falls through it.

LISTER: 

(Picking himself up) 

Oohh. Cat, when I get you I'm going to turn you into a kebab. 

Holly? Can you still hear me?

Cat...?

18 Int. Cargo cathedral.

PRIEST: 

Here. 

(Takes his hat off.) 

Burn the sacred hat. 

CAT: 

That's a fearsome hat. 

PRIEST: 

Burn it, burn it! 

It's a symbol of the lies.

The CAT takes the hat and puts it on. Meanwhile, LISTER's face appears at a window.

CAT: 

It's burnt. 

PRIEST: 

All my life I've served a lie. 

Because you're not there, Cloister, are you? 

You've never been there! 

YOU DON'T EXIST!

In the antechamber, LISTER has grabbed one of the golden doughnuts off the head of a statue of Cloister and put it on his own head. As the priest shouts his disbelief, LISTER pushes open the doors.

PRIEST: 

Who's that? 

LISTER: 

It is I, Cloister! 

PRIEST: (To CAT) 

Who is it, boy? 

LISTER: 

I told you, it's me, Cloister. 

I've returned from The Dead. 

PRIEST: 

Is it him? 

Is it truly him? Does he look like a king?

LISTER quickly grabs one of the giant golden sausages that line the entrance and holds it threateningly over CAT.

CAT: 

A king?!

Yeah, yeah! 

PRIEST: 

Is he wearing the doughnut and the golden sausage? 

CAT: 

Yeah, yeah! 

PRIEST: 

Then it truly is him! 

Oh, I've failed you, Cloister. All these years I kept my faith. 

I wore the Holy Custard Stain and the Scared Gravy Marks.

LISTER suddenly realises that the priest's robe bears the same stains as his own T-shirt.

PRIEST: 

I renounced coolness, and chose the righteous path of slobbiness. But in The End, I failed you. 

LISTER: 

Why didn't you go on the arks with the rest of the Cats? 

PRIEST: 

They left us behind. 

The sick and the lame. 

Left us to die. 

But then, The Boy was born  - to the cripple and the idiot. 

CAT: 

What idiot? 

PRIEST: 

Your father, boy. 

CAT: 

MY father was a jelly-brain? 

PRIEST: 

Yes, that's why he ate his own feet. 

CAT: 

I did wonder. 

PRIEST: 

But, as one by one we died, my faith died also. 

You tested me, Cloister, and I failed you. 

LISTER: 

Oh, no. You didn't fail, old man. 

You passed! I'm giving you ... 

I'm giving you an A+ distinction. 

PRIEST: 

You ... you mean there's a place for me on Fyushal? 

LISTER: 

A place? Got your own bathroom, own suite, cork floors, your own barbecue on the patio, double glazing, a phone, everything! 

PRIEST: (Horrified) 

My hat! I've burned my sacred hat! 

LISTER: 

No you haven't! (Grabs it off of CAT's head and replaces it on the priest's.) 

PRIEST: 

A miracle! (Tries to stand up.) 

This is the happiest day of my -- uh -- aaahhh--

The priest suddenly collapses back on the bed, as dead as some doodoo. 

LISTER sits down, appalled. 

CAT puts his arm around Lister's shoulders.

CAT: 

Did I ever tell you about my feet? My investigating feet? Once upon a time, there was an old man...

“From the moment he discovered that the cadmium II had achieved critical mass, Holly had less than fifteen nanoseconds to act. He sealed off as much of the ship as possible - the whole cargo area, and the ship's supply bay. 

Simultaneously, he set the drive computer to accelerate far beyond the dull green-blue disc of Neptune in the distance, and out into the abyss of unknown space. Then he read the Bible, the Koran, and other major religious works: he covered  Islam, Zoroastrianism, Mazdaism, Zarathustrianism, Dharma,  Brahmanism, Hinduism, Vedanta, Jainism, Buddhism, Hinayana, Mahayana, Sikhism, Shintoism, Taoism and Confucianism. Then he read all of Marx, Engels, Freud, jung and Einstein. And, to kill the remaining few nanoseconds, he skipped briefly through Joe Klumpp's Zero Gee Football - It's a Funny Old game. 

At the end of this, Holly came to two conclusions. First, given  the whole sphere of human knowledge, it was still impossible to determine the existence or not of God. And second, Joe Klumpp should have stuck to having his hair permed. 

In the hold, Frankenstein's four offspring began to breed. Each litter produced an average of four kittens, three times a year. At the end of the first year, the second generation of kittens started to breed too. 

They also produced three annual litters of three to four kittens. 

When Frankenstein died, at the great old age of fourteen, she left behind one hundred and ninety-eight thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two cats. 

198,732 cats, who continued to breed 

 

Still Red Dwarf accelerated. 

Holly witnessed at first hand phenomena which had never been witnessed before. He saw phenomena which had only been guessed at by theoretical physicists. 

He saw a star form. 

He saw another star die. 

He saw a black hole. 

He saw pulsars and quasars. 

He saw twin and triplet sun systems.

He saw sights Copernicus would have torn out his eyes for, but all the while he couldn't stop thinking how bad that book was by Joe Klumpp. 

 

The cats continued to breed. 

 

Red Dwarf continued to accelerate. 

The forty-square mile cargo hold was seething with cats. 

A sea of cats. 

A sea of cats, sealed from the radiation-poisoned decks above with nowhere to go. 

Only the smartest, the biggest and the strongest survived.

The mutants. 

The mutants, who had rudimentary fingers instead of claws, who stood on their hind legs, and clubbed rivals to death with crudely made clubs. Who found the best breeding mates. 

And bred. 

Felis erectus was born.

Red Dwarf, still accelerating, passed five stars in concentric orbits, performing a breathtaking, mind-boggling stellar ballet. 

Not that Holly noticed. 

He'd been on his own now for two million years and was no 

longer interested in mind-boggling stellar ballets. What he was really into was Netta Muskett novels. The young doctor had just told Jemma she had only three years to live, as he held her in his powerful masculine grip, his dark brooding eyes piercing her very 

soul. Outside, the suns danced into a perfect pentagon and span, end over end, like a gigantic Catherine wheel. 

 

But Holly didn't see it. He was too busy reading Doctor, Darling. 

Then there was a plague. 

And the plague was hunger. 

Less than thirty Cat tribes now survived, roaming the cargo decks on their hind legs in a desperate search for food.

But the food had gone. 

The supplies were finished. 

Weak and ailing, they prayed at the supply hold's silver moun-

tains: huge towering acres of metal rocks which, in their 

pagan way, the mutant Cats believed watched over them. 

Amid the wailing and the screeching one Cat stood up and held aloft the sacred icon. The icon which had been passed down as holy and one day would make its use known. 

It was a piece of V-shaped metal with a revolving handle on its head. 

He took down a silver rock from the silver mountain, while the 

other Cats cowered and screamed at the blasphemy. 

He placed the icon on the rim of the rock, and turned the handle. 

And the handle turned. 

And the rock opened. 

And inside the rock was Alphabetti spaghetti in tomato sauce. 

And in the other rocks were even more delights. Sugar-free baked  beans. Chicken and mushroom Toastie Toppers. Faggots in rich meaty gravy. All sealed in perfect vacuums, preserved from the 

ravages of Time. 

God had spoken. 

And Felis sapiens was born. 

Holly was gurning. He was pulling his pixelized face into the most bizarre and ludicrous expressions he could muster. He'd been gurning now for nearly two thousand years. It wasn't much of a hobby, but 

it helped pass the time. 

He was beginning to worry that he was going computer-senile. 

Driven crazy by loneliness. What he needed, he decided, was a companion. 

He would build a woman.

A perfectly functioning human woman, capable of independent thought and decision-making. Identical to a real woman in the minutest detail. 

The problem was he didn't know how. 

He didn't even know what to make the nose out of. 

So he gave the whole scheme up as a bad idea, and started  gurning again. 

And there was a war between the Cats. 

A bloody war that laid waste many of their number. 

But the reason was good. 

The cause was sensible. 

The principle was worth fighting over. 

It was a holy war. 

Some of the Cats believed the one true father of Catkind was a man called Cloister, who saved Frankenstein, the Holy Mother, and was frozen in time by the evil men who sought to kill her. One day Cloister would return to lead them to Bearth, the planet where they could make their home. 

The other Cats believed exactly the same thing, except they maintained the name of the true Father of Catkind was a man called Clister. 

They spent the best part of two thousand years fighting over this huge, insuperable theological chasm.

Millions died. 

Finally, a truce was called. 

Commandeering the fleet of shuttles from the docking bay, half the Cats flew off in one direction, in search of Cloister and the Promised Planet, and the other half flew off in the opposite direction, in search of Clister and the Promised Planet. 

Behind them they left the ones who were too weak to travel: the old, the lame, the sick and the dying. 

And one by one, they died. 

Soon only two remained: one a cripple, one an idiot. 

They snuggled together for warmth and companionship.

And one day, to the cripple and the idiot, a son was born.