Eating Socrates

“It was Socrates.”

Only if you believe Plato.

Socrates was dead when 

he wrote it; IF he wrote it.

CAT: 

Great.  So where 

does this leave us?

KRYTEN: 

It leaves us floating aimlessly in space, with no navigation 

and a rapidly diminishing emergency power supply.  

It leaves us galloping up diarrhoea drive without a saddle!

CAT: 

So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils is still here?

LISTER: 

Yeah, Rimmer hasn't been wiped!

KRYTEN: 

Holly must have linked him up 

to the emergency power supply.

LISTER: 

But isn't that an enormous DRAIN?

KRYTEN: 

Yes, but if we switch off his projection unit, we wouldn't 

have enough emergency power to re-initialise it.  

Mister Rimmer would be effectively dead.

CAT: Hey, things are looking up already!

RIMMER: 

Forget it.  Whatever it is 

you're suggesting, forget it.

KRYTEN: 

But the entire ship is running on emergency battery power only.

With the oxygen recycler and minimal heating and lighting, 

I estimate that Lister and the Cat have 

approximately two months left. 

 Without your drain on The Power, 

they MIGHT last six.  

I'm sorry, Sir.

RIMMER: 

“Sorry”?  Why are you “sorry”?

KRYTEN: 

Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states 

that in an emergency power situation, a hologrammatic 

crewmember must lay down his life in order that 

the living crewmembers might survive.

RIMMER: 

Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just 

as clearly, "No chance, you metal bastard."

CAT: 

Come on, man, you gotta sacrifice your life!  

I'm not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do!

RIMMER: 

YOU?  You'd sacrifice your life 

for the good of the crew?

CAT: 

No, I'd sacrifice YOUR life 

for the good of the crew.

KRYTEN: 

I beg you to reconsider, Sir.  Human history is 

resplendent with examples of such sacrifice.  

Remember Captain Oates:  "I'm going out for a walk.  

I may be some time."

RIMMER: 

Yes, but the thing is, about Captain Oates; the thing you have to remember about Captain Oates; Captain Oates ... 

Captain Oates was a prat.  If that'd been me, 

I'd've stayed in the tent, whacked Scott over 

the head with a frozen husky — 

and then EATEN him.

LISTER:

 You would too, wouldn't you?

RIMMER: 

History, Lister, is written by The Winners.  

How do we KNOW that Oates went 

out for this legendary walk?  

From the ONLY surviving 

document :  Scott's Diary.  

And he's hardly likely to have written down,

"February the First, bludgeoned Oates 

to death while he slept, then scoffed him 

along with the last packet of instant mash." 

How's THAT going to look when he gets rescued, eh?  

No, much better to say, "Oates made the supreme sacrifice," while 

you're dabbing up his gravy with the last piece of crusty bread.

LISTER: 

You've got no magnificence in 

your soul, have you, Rimmer?

RIMMER: 

Let's just say we can eliminate 

the switch-off option.

CAT:

So what do we do now?

LISTER: 

Well, it's back to basics.  We've got no heat, no light, no power; 

we can't get any food out of the dispensing machines; 

we're gonna have to scavenge for what we 

can find in the cargo decks.

Without computers and technology, 

we're reduced to the level of primitives.  

All we've got is Us-Guys, 

Us and our own resourcefulness.

CAT: 

My God, it's worse than I thought!