(Hebrew: קְלִיפּוֹת, the different English spellings are used in the alternative Kabbalistic traditions of Hermetic Qabalah and Jewish Kabbalah respectively), literally “Peels”, “Shells” or “Husks” (from singular: קְלִפָּה qlippah “Husk”), are the representation of Evil or Impure spiritual forces in Jewish mysticism, the polar opposites of the holy Sefirot.
The Realm of Evil is also termed
Sitra Achra/Aḥra (Aramaic סטרא אחרא,
The “Other Side” opposite holiness)
in Kabbalah texts.
INT. FRED'S OFFICE - DAY
Wesley is packing Fred's personal effects in a box with bubble-wrap. He takes a commemorative plate off
the wall where it hung next to
the Dixie Chicks poster.
ILLYRIA (standing in the doorway) You grievestill...
for a single Life.
WESLEY (without turning to look
at her, shuts his eyes tight and
speaks through gritted teeth)
Why are you here?
ILLYRIA I... I'm uncertain. (looks around) This place... was
part of The Shell.
WESLEY (snaps) Don'tcall her — (breathes deeply) The woman
you killedhad a name.
ILLYRIA This is important to you. Things have Names. The Shell... Winifred Burkle... She can'treturn to you.
WESLEY (packing her things, tearfully)
I know.
ILLYRIA Yet there are fragments. When her brain collapsed,
electrical spasmschanneled
into my function system...
memories.
(holds up her fingers, making a gap between
her thumb and index finger where
an electrical spark forms)
(asFred) Please...Wesley,
why can't I stay?
WESLEY (turns away, nearly sick, crying) No. (looks out the window) Leave.
ILLYRIA I've nowhere to go. My Kingdom is long dead. (softly) Long dead. There's so
much I don't understand. I've become overwhelmed. I'm unsure of my place.
WESLEY (turns to her, angrily) Your place is with
the rest of Your People: Deadand turned to ash.
ILLYRIA Perhaps... but
Iexist here. I must learn to
Walk in This World. (slowly approaches Wes) I'll need your help... Wesley.
WESLEY (frowning, choking back tears) If I were to help youfindyour way... you have to learn to change. You mustn't kill.
ILLYRIA You killed the Qwa'ha Xahn
in defiance of Your Leader.
WESLEY (shakes his head, then looks at her) He murderedthe
woman I love.
ILLYRIA
And that made it just.
WESLEY No. It wasn'tjust. (sighs, puts his hands on his hips)
I'm probably thelastman
in The World to teach
you what's right.
ILLYRIA But you will. If I abide,
you will helpme.
WESLEY (softly) Yes.
ILLYRIA Because I look
like her?
WESLEY (looks at her with tears
in his eyes, whispers) Yes.
ILLYRIA (stands beside Wes, looks out
The Window to the lab below
where her sarcophagus lies) We clingto What is Gone.
Is there anything in
This Life but Grief?
WESLEY (looks out at the lab) There's Love.
There's Hope...
for some.
There's hope that you'll
find something worthy... that your life will
lead you to somejoy... that
after everything... you can
still be surprised.
ILLYRIA Is that enough? (looks at Wes) Is that enough
We've had some terrible news. Mr. Lebowski is in seclusion in the West Wing.
DUDE
Huh.
Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors. The music washes over us as we enter a great study where Jeffrey Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.
BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:
BRANDT
Mr. Lebowski.
Jeffrey Lebowski waves the Dude in without looking around.
LEBOWSKI
It's funny. I can look back on a
life of achievement, on challengesmet, competitors bested, obstaclesovercome.
but apparently our exploratory shuttle was contaminated by an alien life form which infected and killed all personnel except myself.
I awakened to find myself here in the Royale Hotel, precisely as described in the novel I found in my room.
And for the last thirty eight years I have survived here.
I have come to understand that the alien contaminators created this place for me out of some sense of guilt, presuming that The Novel we had on board the shuttle about the Hotel Royale was in fact a guide to our preferred lifestyle and social habits.Obviously, they thought this was The World from which I came.
I hold no malice toward my benefactors.
They could not possibly know the hellthey have put me through, for it was such a BADLY WRITTEN book, filled with endless cliché and shallow characters —
I shall welcome Death when it comes.”
RIKER [OC]:
A bizarre incident just took place.
PICARD:
The shoot-out between the bellboy and Mickey D.
RIKER:
Yes, and Mickey D
just walked out the door.
How did he DO that?
PICARD:
It's on page 244.
RIKER:
In the novel. Right.
How does it end?
PICARD:
A bad love affair ends
in a bloody shoot-out,
The Hotel gets bought out,
and life goes on,
such as it is.
RIKER:
The Hotel gets bought?
By whom?
PICARD:
It isn't specific. It simply
refers to foreign investors.
Sale price, twelve point five million United States Dollars.
They return home, leaving the assistant manager in charge.
RIKER:
Captain, that'show
we're getting out —
We're BUYING
this place.
DATA:
Commander — these cubes
are improperly-balanced.
I believe their final resting position would be —
RIKER:
Can you REPAIR them?
DATA:
I believe so — (to the pit-boss)
I will make another attempt.
(He gives the dice a good squeeze to even them up)
On one side is the outline of a human body. On the other side is what looks like the machinery from a generator.
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.
Rimmer and Cat leave as Lister revives.
Rimmer: 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 disturbingabout you.
LISTER-3000 :
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 hands Lister a basket of dirty 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!
Kryten leaves. Lister looks
confusedbut resigned
to his new role.
He smells a sock
from the basket, and
the smell makes him
turn quickly away.
7. Cockpit --
Rimmer and Cat are in
their regular seats.
Kryten is in Lister's seat.
They hit another jolt.
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.
Enter Lister with a plate. The plate has three cups and a pile of sandwiches.
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 ...
Lister leaves.
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 ...
Long pause while Kryten realizes what he's done. He nervously twiddles his fingers in an impression of Stan Laurel.
Cat: You mean he's not a ... Kryten: No ...
Lister enters again. This time the tray has a very elaborate log cabin made from chocolate bars. There are even a green tree and fence.
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 Rimmer's 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!
8. Shot of Starbug moving through the fog.
9. Cockpit --
Lister is back in his seat.
Rimmer and Cat are in their seats.
Enter Kryten with a can of beer on a tray.
Lister gives him the cold shoulder.
Kryten: I wondered if you felt like a nice cold beer, sir?
Lister takes the beer but gives Kryten a look cold enough to freeze Kryten's circuits.
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)
WORF: Providing security was difficult enough aboard the Enterprise. It appears to be next to impossible on this station.
ODO: It isn't easy.
WORF: I prefer a more orderly environment.
ODO: We have that in common. My people have an innateneed for order.
WORF: How do you tolerateliving here?
ODO: I make order where I can. For one thing, I have a daily routine which I follow unwaveringly. Shopkeepers on the Promenade joke that they can set their clocks by me.
WORF: Unfortunately, I have found it difficult to establish a routine here.
ODO: There are other ways to create order in your life. Your quarters, for example. Everything in mine has its specific place and it's all arranged just so.
WORF: Yes, mine too. Even with my eyes closed I would still know where everything was.
ODO: Exactly.
WORF: I would not tolerate it any other way.
ODO: I'll tell you what else to do. Make sure everyone knows they can't just drop by your quarters to say "Hello --" If someone does, whatever happens, don't make them feel welcome.
WORF: Of course not! That would only invite SUBSEQUENT visits.
ODO: Precisely.
WORF: So far, the only person who has a tendency to drop by is Chief O'Brien.
ODO: That's probably because he knows you from the Enterprise.
WORF: Perhaps if I am more inhospitable, he will stop.
ODO: Good luck.
[Odo's quarters]
(Odo trashes his room to relieve his anger and frustration, including throwing the bucket of flowers against the wall, then sits in the mess for a while.)
QUARK [OC]: I know you're in there. I heard you.
[Corridor]
QUARK: Fine. We'll do this the hard way.
(Quark picks the lock.)
[Odo's quarters]
QUARK: I knew it would come to this. You take the form of an animal, you're going to end up behaving like one. What was it? A Klingon targ, a Trellan crocodile? I tell you, this time you crossed the line. I've had it. Odo. Odo! Are you okay?
ODO: You were right.
QUARK: Oh. I take it Major Kira and Shakaar are? You really are in love. I must say, I really didn't think you had it in you. It takes passion to do something like this, and I always thought you were colder than a Breen winter.
ODO: What was I thinking? How could I have fooled myself into believing she could ever love someone like me?
QUARK: Look, the last thing I want to do is interfere with your personal life but this, this just isn't any good, for either of us.
ODO: I'll try to keep my problems more quiet next time.
QUARK: I'm not talking about the noise, I'm talking about business. I'm losing my shirt in the manhunt pool.
ODO: The what?
QUARK: Anytime there's an unusual crime committed on the station, I run a pool so that people can bet on how long it'll take for you to catch the perpetrator. It's very popular. Frankly, I don't care whether you and Major Kira end up living happily ever after or not. I just want to see the situation resolved. The way I see it, you've either got to tell her how you feel, or forget about her and get on with your life. Concentrate on the essentials. Because you can't keep going like this. It's interfering with your job. And my profits.
ODO: Your profits?
QUARK: Unless you do something about the situation, I'm going to have to stop running the pool.
ODO: I'm devastated.
QUARK: You should be. The fact that that pool exists says something about you, about who you are. People see you as the guy who always gets his man. Now you're becoming the guy who tears up his quarters and sits alone in the rubble. And no one's going to want to place bets on how long someone's going to sit around in the dark. Well, I've said my piece. Sorry for butting in. But I'm just looking out for my business.
ODO: Funny. For a minute there I thought you were talking to me as a friend.
