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By David K Fraser
Corrections by Kev Blake

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tight shot on some fiendishly complex cicuitry. Pull back to reveal Kryten, sitting in a chair. The flesh-tinted plastic which serves him as skin has been peeled back from his skull, and wires have been attached to various areas. As the camera pans to the right, we see Lister, dressed in a hospital gown and sitting on a bed. We are clearly in a hospital ward. Lister has a laptop computer in front of him and is directing the actions of a pair of skutters. Also on the bed are several very thick manuals and crumpled pieces of paper. Beside the bed is a trolley piled thick with technical equipment.

LISTER: Okay, that should just about do it. Stand away, guys.

The skutters come round to the side of the bed. One of them consults a checklist while the other watches Lister typing on the laptop's keyboard. Lister pauses to scratch at his belly. The nearest of the skutters reacts by slapping away his hand then wagging a scolding digit at him.

LISTER: But these stitches itch!

The skutter looks stern. Lister sighs resignedly.

LISTER: Yes, nurse Skutter.

He resumes his typing.

Rimmer and Cat enter.

RIMMER: Ah, Listy! How goes it?
LISTER: Pretty good. We've just about got Kryten finished - checking his cereberum for damage, then we can try powering him up.
RIMMER: You mean blowing him up.
LISTER: Oh, very funny.
RIMMER: Come off it, Lister! The most technical thing you've ever done in your life is fiddling with that bike of yours. Now you're trying to tell me that in just three weeks you've managed to piece together a Series Four Thousand mechanoid - from your hospital bed, no less! - with the help of just two skutters?
LISTER: I had a lot of time on me hands.

Rimmer gives a disbelieving shake of his head.

RIMMER: Are you sure you didn't get a brain transplant at the same time as they were delivering your babies? LISTER: No. Hey, listen, man, just 'cos I spend most of me time eatin' curry and, well, and, not, um...
RIMMER: You mean, just because you're a fat, lazy, slobby git who failed his GCSEs, why shouldn't you have the brains enough to be able to repair one of the most technical and sophisticated machines known to man?
LISTER: Yeah. That's it

A skutter enters with a lunch tray, places the tray on the lap table and puts it before Lister.

LISTER: Great! Its about time for lunch. I'm famished!

He removes the plate cover, inhales deeply and grins.

LISTER: Ahhh. Smells great.

Tight shot of the tray, showing 4 dry yet oily looking fish sticks, watery, lumpy mashed potatoes, withered-looking green beans, tapioca pudding, a bun that is both burnt and underdone, and a glass of milk. Lister starts to mash it all together.

Rimmer and Cat both recoil at the sight and smell of the Hospital Food.

RIMMER: You like that stuff?! Well that proves it - you've cracked.
CAT: Hey buddy, just because you're stupid and you got no sense of style doesn't mean you should commit suicide by eating that stuff. You've got other things to live for! (Pauses) What am I saying? Eat up!
LISTER: This food's great!

Rimmer and Cat exchange glances and a "Knowing Look".

Lister has mashed the fish sticks, potatoes, green beans and pudding together. He takes the first bite, rolls his eyes, raises his free hand in an OK sign. Rimmer and Cat clasp their hands over their bellies and mouths, a decidedly "Dog-food" look on their faces.

LISTER: Wonderful.
CAT: Ugh. I'm going to be sick.
RIMMER: Ditto.

Lister scoops up another mouth full and drinks milk on top of it.

LISTER: It's just mind over matter. In me mind I know this is really shrimp and anchovy vindaloo. And this is a beer milkshake. It just looks like the sort of slop you wouldn't even give to Jeremy Beadle.

Lister takes another sip.

RIMMER: Lister, you've been under a lot of strain. Just take it easy and it'll be alright. (Aside to Cat) He's gone to cuckoo land!
LISTER: Great food guys, just great! The skutters wont give me anything but this stuff while I'm here. So I just have to spice it up on me own, in me mind as it were. Mind over matter, its brilliant.
RIMMER: Hm. Fascinating. You know, I think it just needs a little something... I know! How about that pea that got lost in your sock-basket?

Lister practically turns green.

LISTER: Please, not in the middle of me lunch.

He pushes the tray away, all appetite lost.

LISTER: I'm gettin' worried about that sock basket, y'know.
CAT: You? Worryin' about hygiene? Ace-hole was right - you've flipped!
LISTER: No, seriously - I can't remember the last time it got cleaned out.
RIMMER: That's because it was over three million years ago.
RIMMER: The decontamination skutters refused to go near it. Your laundry basket hasn't been cleaned out for a period longer than the history of the human race.
LISTER: But that means... it must be, like, radioactive.
RIMMER: You should see the way your feet glow while you're asleep.
LISTER: You guys must think I'm daft! You think I'm gonna believe anything you lot say?
RIMMER: Fair's fair. You're the one who's always playing jokes on us. Besides, it's true.
CAT: And let's face it, bud - with that sort of fashion sense, you gotta be pretty dumb!
LISTER: Hey, no fair! These aint me usual duds.
CAT: That's what I mean: those look better!
LISTER: You really think I'm stupid?

Rimmer and Cat nod smugly.

LISTER: Well, if you guys feel that way, we'll soon see whose right: when I get Kryten working perfectly, then will you admit I've got brains?
LISTER: Care to bet on it?
RIMMER: Listy, I hate to rob you of your money...
LISTER: Who said anything about money? if you lose, I want to watch you do one of your three mile jogs.
RIMMER; (Panics slightly) Now, Lister, let's not get too hasty...
LISTER: And if I lose, I call you "sir" for a week.
LISTER: Deal, then?
LISTER: Right, then.

Rimmer exits, humming a happy little tune. Cat makes sure he's gone, then closes the door.

CAT: When you gonna tell him?
LISTER: tell him what?
CAT: That you programmed the skutters with all those books, and had them do all the work?
LISTER: Oh, at about the two-mile stage.
CAT: Yow! I like it!

He opens the door, does a spin, and leaves. Lister waits till he's gone, then takes a peek at his feet under the blanket.


Lister and Rimmer's old quarters.

Rimmer is directing two skutters who are removing the last of his personal possesions from the cupboards.

RIMMER: Now remember: officer's block, level 2, room 473.

He watches them go, then shakes his head.

RIMMER: (To self) I just can't understand how it is they keep on getting lost!

He takes one last look around the now-bare room. The walls have been stripped of Lister's posters and Rimmer's newspaper clipping, and covers have been rolled down over the bunks. the room has a "just moving out" feeling, enhanced be the bag of rubbish lying against the wall. Beside it is lister's dirty sock basket, which is cordoned off and surrounded by flashing lights. A notice sits in front of the cordon:


Looking at it, Rimmer shakes his head in disgust.

RIMMER: Holly!

Holly appears on a wall-monitor.

RIMMER: When are they going to do something about that basket?
HOLLY: Two skutters are on their way up now, Arnold. They've got an old nuclear-waste and bio-toxins container from suppies.
RIMMER: Will it be tough enough?
HOLLY: I hope so. It's the last one.

Rimmer nods pensively, then turns to go.

RIMMER: Let me know if it goes alright, will you?
HOLLY: (shrugs) Okey-dokey.
RIMMER: Lights!

The lights dim, then go out, as Rimmer leaves the room. the camera pans across the dark and silent room, then comes to rest on the dirty sock basket, fitfully illuminated by the flashing lights which surround it. Something stirs...


The hospital ward.

Lister and the skutters (well, the skutters, mostly) have finished tesing Kryten, and are sealing up his head. Only one umbilical remains - a systems test and command cable, plugged into some exposed circuitry in his chest.

LISTER: Okay, all systems check out. Applying power...

He types on the keyboard. Kryten, slumped in the chair, sits bolt upright.

LISTER: Engaging memory module one of four...

Kryten stands, stiffly.

KRYTEN: Good evening, ladies and Gentlemen. I am KRYTEN 2X4B 523P, the fifteenth mechanoid in the new and experimental Series 4000. I was created at Divadroid laboratories in Low Earth Orbit, and my creator, Doctor Mamet, taught me to sing this little song:

He strikes a pose, knees bent, right arm high, left hand miming clutching a microphone. He curls his lip and starts to sing:

KRYTEN: Heartbreak Hoteeeeeeelllll...


Rimmer and Lister's old Quarters.

White smoke billows from the dirty sock basket. The contents of the basket are heaving and roiling, dimly seen throught the smoke. A tentacle whips out, and grabs the binsack full of rubbish. The sack is pulled into the heaving mass. Noises can be heard - wet, slobbering noises, as the creature in the sock basket feeds on the garbage.

The hospital Ward

KRYTEN: And now, ladies, the climax of my show tonight - I will saw myself in half! (Pause) Yes, Miss Johns, I realise that I have done this every night for the past fifty years. Yes, I realise that you are getting a little tired of it... yes, I do think Miss Air and Miss Gill have been rather quiet lately... I do hope they're alright... it can't be all that long before someone realises the Nova 5 is missing...

LISTER: OK, final memory module.

He types briefly on his keyboard. Kryten pauses in mid-monologue.

KRYTEN: What happened?

He turns round, then sees Lister.

KRYTEN: Mr Lister, sir! Where am I? What's going on? I was cleaning the lavatories... have I had an accident?
LISTER: Erm, you could say that.
KRYTEN: That must have been some accident... why am I speaking with this strange accent?
LISTER: I'm not sure... I think one of the skutters is Canadian.

Quick shot of one of the skutters beside lister's bed. It is wearing a mountie-style hat and carring a Canadian flag in it's "hand". It nods smugly.

KRYTEN: And why can't I remember anything about this accident?
LISTER: Your memory was damaged - you've lost about three weeks' worth of recall.
KRYTEN: So, how did it happen?
LISTER: You rode a space-bike into an asteroid.
KRYTEN: I what? But sir, androids are not liscenced to drive any space vehichle. My programming would not permit me to do such a thing! What on earth could have made me do such a thing? What else did I do?
LISTER: You called Rimmer a punk and told him to swivel on it.
KRYTEN: I did? Why?
LISTER: I think he was pissed off because you did a painting of him.
KRYTEN: Well, painting portraits is well within my abilities... why would this have annoyed him?
LISTER: I'll show you it sometime.
KRYTEN: I must have been suffering from mad droid disease!
LISTER: No. What happened was, y'see, I helped you break your programming...
KRYTEN: With respect, sir, that is impossible. My programming goes to the deepest level of my being, the most basic, fundamental core of my ego. To break it would require years of patient, careful work with highly sophisticated tools and equipment.
LISTER: I did it in three days with a James Dean movie.


Lister and Rimmer's old quarters.

The creature's POV: it rises from the laundry basket, and gazes around the room. Smoke clings to the floor, and the walls are spatered with waste. Everything is tinted green, and is otherwise colourless. The creature steps out of the basket, and moves toweards the door. When it is about halfway across the room, the door opens. A skutter backs into the room, carrying one end of a large container marked with radiation warnings. It skutter -handles the box into the room, backing carefully. The box is fully in the room (And another skutter visible on the other side of the box) when it bumps into the creature. It lowers the container carefully, then looks round to see what it has bumped into, while the other skutter peers round the corner of the container. The skutter's eyes go wide with fear and shock.

The corridor.

The door to Lister and Rimmer's old room stands open. Mist seeps out into the corridor, and a sickly green glow pours fitfully from the open door. Suddenly, a skutter streaks out of the room, wheels whirring. It gets about one metre down the corridor before the pursuing tentacle catches it and drags it back towards the room. The skutter desperately grabs onto the door frame with it's hand, but the creature inside is too strong, and the skutter slowly but surely loses it's grip. It's hand is pulled away from the frame, and the door slams closed.

The hospital ward.

LISTER: Right, let's try this again. What is Mr Rimmer?
KRYTEN: (Wretchedly) A human being, sir.
LISTER: No, he's not. He's a smeg-head, alright? A smeg-head.
KRYTEN: No, sir. It's no good. I can't break such a fundamental aspect of my programming.
Rimmer enters, looking rather happy. He's talking even before the door is fully open.

RIMMER: Ah, Lister. Still struggling to put that pile of garbage back together, are we?

At the word "garbage", Kryten twitches, and a flash of annoyance crosses his features. Rimmer spots Kryten, and his face falls.

RIMMER: Oh, you got him working, then?
LISTER: Yes, working perfectly. Say hello to Rimmer, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Hello, Mr. Rimmer, sir. How are you today?
RIMMER: Working, is he? Ha! I win. You call me 'sir' for a week!
LISTER: You what?
RIMMER: Listen to that accent! Canadian, of all things!

The Canandian skutter gives Rimmer the finger.

LISTER: So what? I decided he needed a change, that's all. His last accent was crap.
RIMMER: Quiet, respectful, servile... I quite liked it.
LISTER: Exactly. Anyway, apart from that, he's just as he was before.
RIMMER: Well, for god's sake, don't let him do any paintings!
LISTER: No, no, he's lost that bit of his memory.
RIMMER: (With a gleam in his eye) He has?
LISTER: (Quickly) But not that much.
RIMMER: Oh yeah? Kryten, the toilets on Deck 543 need cleaning.
KRYTEN: I'll get onto it right away, sir.

Lister watches him go, looking defeated and depressed.

RIMMER: Well, I'll be saying toodly-pipski, then.
LISTER: Not so fast. You still have to jog three miles, you know.
RIMMER: Ah. Erm...
LISTER: C'mon, admit it. He's working. I've won.
RIMMER: Now, we can hardly tell that from just five minutes, now can we? What if he develops some serious fault as a result of your ham-fisted repair job? We should leave it a few weeks till we know for sure...
LISTER: Hey, no fair! You could keep that argument up for months! We give him one week, okay? If he's proved out by then, you jog!
RIMMER: And if not, you bow and scrape.
LISTER: Fine. (Not looking too happy)
RIMMER: Okey-dokey. (Smugly)

Rimmer leaves. Lister watches him go, fuming.


Cat is jivin' down the corridor, humming happily. Abruptly he stops, and sniffs the air. He hunkers down and sniffs at some slimy marks on one wall. Then, eyes narrowed, he pulls out a can of scent-spray and starts to stalk. He reaches a corner and pauses, listening. The camera pans to show that the creature, a dark shambling shape in the dimness of the corridor, is just round the corner, standing at a food dispenser. The cover of the food dispenser is lying discarded on the corridor floor, where Cat can see it, and the creature is munching on the contents of the machine. It is making a fair amount of noise. Cat pauses, and thinks. He hasn't peeked round the corner yet, and doesn't want to. he looks at the can of spray in his hand, and makes a decision. He backs a little way up the corridor, to where one of Holly's monitor screens is.

CAT: (In a whisper) Holly!

Holly appears. He opens his mouth to speak, and Cat slaps a hand over his mouth.

CAT: (Still in a whisper) Shhhh! there's something down that corridor - something nasty! Smells worse than Lister!
HOLLY: (Whispering too) Okay, Cat, I'll take a look.

He vanishes, then, after a few seconds, reappears.

HOLLY: (White with shock, and still whispering) Run! find somewhere to hide - it's moving towards you! I'll go alert the others!

He vanishes from the monitor and Cat skedaddles.


Holly appears on a monitor in the hospital. Lister is in bed and Kryten is sweeping the floor while Rimmer watches critically.

HOLLY: Guys! There's something down on deck 492!
RIMMER: What? What kind of a "something", exactly?
HOLLY: An alien life form!
RIMMER: Aliens! Holly, are you sure?
HOLLY: Course I'm bloody sure! The DNA scanner...
RIMMER: Then let's go! I wish to be the first to greet our honoured guests, the Quagaars...
LISTER: Now just hold on, Rimmer! It could be some mutant, emotion- sucking, shape-changing genetically engineered monster, here to devour our minds!
RIMMER: (Patronisingly) Lister, such things do not exist. Besides, what if it is? You're hardly in any fit state to walk, let alone handle a bazookoid.
LISTER: Kryten, there's a wheelchair in that supply cupboard. Could you get it for me? Thanks. Rimmer, it might just be that it is your "Quaagars" out there, but I prefer to err on the side of caution.
HOLLY: He's right, Arnold. That didn't look like no friendly, super-advanced cuddly little alien with a big head to me. It looked more like the slavering, horrible kind of alien that hides in ship's ducts to me, it did.
RIMMER: Oh, what would you know about anything?

Nevertheless, he calms down a bit and starts to look thoughtful, his natural cowardice coming to the fore.

LISTER: Let's kick ass!

Lister is sitting in the wheelchair, checking the charge level on a baziookoid. One of the skutters is tucking a blanket around him. Kryten is standing behind him, ready to push the wheelchair.

RIMMER: You look about as threatening as a gerbil, Listy. Why not let Kryten take the bazookoid?
KRYTEN: It goes against my programming, sir.
RIMMER: Oh, yeah. that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Our intrepid diplomatic/alien-toasting party is proceeding cautiously down the corridor. Rimmer is in his admirals uniform, and is carrying several diplomatic scrolls of welcome, though how he intends to present them to any alien is a mystery. Lister is sweeping the corridor with his bazookoid, ready to blast anything that moves. A skutter whirs along beside his wheelchair. Kryten is sweeping the corridor with a psi-scan. They are speaking in whispers.

KRYTEN: Handy little device, this. I quite like it.
LISTER: Shhhhh.
KRYTEN: I'm getting something. A life-form reading - in that closet. Non-human.
RIMMER: That'll be them, then. I vote we blast them to bits and then present the scrolls.
LISTER: To a dead body?
RIMMER: Better a dead E.T. than a live Alien.
LISTER: (Sounding surprised) You know something? You're right. Kryten, let's get closer.

They close in, slowly. Rimmer carefully falls back to the rear of the group. Lister signals Kryten to push the wheelchair forward. Kryten does so, and Lister is eased closer. When the wheelchair is just a few feet from the closet, Lister takes careful aim - then stops.

LISTER: (In normal tones) Oh, this is stupid. It'll just be the Cat.
KRYTEN: (startled) How do you know?
LISTER: I saw it in this film once.

He leans forward and flips open the locker. It is, indeed, the Cat.

CAT: Hi there. I was just, um , lyin' in wait.

Lister nods wordlessly, keeping his face straight.

CAT: Yeah, so that when he came past, I could leap out and grab him.

Lister nods again.

CAT: You don't believe me, do you?

Lister shakes his head.

CAT: Well, I was!

LISTER: Come on, let's go. Where was it?

CAT: Just down there, third on the right. By the vending machine.


The vending machine.

They gather round. The machine sits there, looking a little uncomfortable under their combined scrutiny. While Kryten searches the corridor with the psi-scan, Lister wheels closer and taps on the keypad.

LISTER: It seems alright.
CAT: I tell you, it was here! It was eating -
LISTER: The machine's almost full. It must have a very small appetite.
CAT: It had the cover on the floor -
LISTER: It must be real good with a screwdriver then.

Lister glances over at the skutter. It is looking in the opposite direction. Lister turns back to the machine, presses the "ORDER" button and whispers:

LISTER: King-sized Krispy Krunch bar and Leopard lager.

The machine starts to rumble. Lister cups his hands together underneath the hopper, ready to catch the non-hospital foodstuffs as they emerge.

CAT: (Whispering) Whatcha' doin', bud?
LISTER: (Wild-eyed, frantic whisper ) I can't stand it no more. I'm cracking up. That last meal was starting to taste bland. I can't keep it up for much longer. I HAVE to have food!

Suddenly a three-fingered metal hand slaps the "CANCEL" button. Lister turns sheepishly to face the nurse skutter, which wags a scolding digit at him. Lister slumps, defeated.

KRYTEN: There's something over here!

It's a sock. They get within three feet before being driven back by the fetid stench. The fire alarm goes off, and the sock is drenched as the sprinkler immediately above it goes off.

RIMMER: A sock. One of Lister's dirty socks. There's your alien - that and Cat's fevered imagination!
CAT: But, but!
RIMMER: Let's go.
CAT: Guys, wait!

No use. The others turn and leave.

CAT: Aw, smeg!

He wanders over to the vending machine, and presses the "ORDER" button.

CAT: Plate of fish.

The machine rumbles - and disgorges a sock. A dirty sock. A dirty, smelly sock. Cat practically does a backflip in an effort to put clean air between himself and the offending item. As he does so, the front cover of the machine falls off, revealing that all the food trays inside it are packed with yet more dirty socks. They all tumble out onto the floor of the corridor, yet again setting off the sprinkler systems. Cat is caught in the downpour. He clambers to his feet a and stares dejectedly at the smelly footwear.

CAT: This is the end. My suit is ruined! This is pure silk, you know. Oh, Cloister! I hope nobody sees me before I can change.
CAT: I can't STAND getting wet. How can I look cool when I'm all wet?
CAT: I'll need a full make over before I'm presentable again. Hair, nails,suit, shoes, the works.
CAT: What do you want, skinhead? Can't you see I'm having a crisis?
HOLLY: Look, I realise that this might not be the best time, but i've just figured out what that monster is.
CAT: Well good for you. I've going for a change of clothes.
HOLLY: You're the only one who'll believe me about this. After that little joke about Queeg the others won't ever believe this.
CAT: Believe what?
HOLLY: What the creature is. I've just finished analyzing the data from the Psi-scan Kryten was using. The creature is made of old socks, dirty laundry and the slime from the bottom of Dave's hamper. I was a bit confused about its DNA for a while but I got it sorted out now. Cat, that creature is Dave's old sock-basket come to life.
CAT: Made of Lister's old socks and dirty laundry? That's.. that's...that's monstrous!
HOLLY: Yeah, and the really horrible thing is... it's only got a pea for a brain.

Cat grimaces in horror.

HOLLY: You've got to get this thing before it gets us. At the rate its growing it'll take over the whole ship by the end of the week!
CAT: This thing is made of clothes? Well, if there's one thing I understand, it's clothes! No pea brained monster has a chance while I'm on the case. That monster is history... just as soon as I've changed into something more suitable. Yeow!

Cat makes a twirl and spin and heads for his room.

Holly calls after Cat.

HOLLY: Be careful! I can't track it when its inside the air ducts or the walls. Oh well, maybe he'll be able to track it with his nose, or something. Oh dear.

A worried-looking Holly glances up and down the corridor, then fades from the screen.


The Cat, grimly determined, is squelching back to his wardrobe for a change of clothes, bazokoid over his shoulder. As he passes the laundry room, he hears voices. He takes a peek inside. Rimmer and Lister (Still in his wheelchair, tended by a skutter) are argueing, while Kryten watches miserably.

LISTER: Ironing. He's good at this. This should prove that he's working!
RIMMER: It'll prove nothing. Any old domestic droid can do the ironing - even the skutters can! Besides, do you think he's going to show us any clothes that he's burnt holes in?
KRYTEN: (Wretchedly) Sirs, please...
LISTER: (Ignoring him) He can't lie or decieve: it's not in his programming. Face it, Rimmer: this is the ultimate test!
RIMMER: (Also ignoring kryten) Ah, ah, ah: We agreed on a week.
LISTER: Oh, you're really determined to drag this out, aren't you?
RIMMER: One week.
LISTER: Okay, but it's your marathon...

They leave, still argueing. Kryten watches them go sorrowfully, then turns to the pile of ironing. He immediately brightens, and, humming a happy little tune, takes the first sheet from the pile. The Cat shakes his head, and squelches off.


The Cat's Quarters.

It is, perhaps, not too surprising that the Cat rarely lets the others near his private quarters. A cat's home is, after all, his den. This particular den is located conveniently near to the laundry room. It consists of a sparsely furnished bedroom, a jacuzzi, an olympic-sized bath - and a walk-in warderobe. Perhaps "Drive-in warderobe" would be the more appropriate term: the Cat's wardrobe extends for well over a mile, and has a pair of scooters to facilitateeasy access to the further-away racks. It contains approximately 10,000 suits and 500 racks of miscallaneous clothing. The Cat considers it under-stocked, but one has to make do.

The Cat heads straight for the bathroom. He emerges a few seconds later wearing a dressing gown and, pausing only to toss his soaked suit into the laundry chute, he enters his warderobe. Inside, he steps onto the scooter - a mobile circular platform with a guardrail. Placing the bazookoid carefully against the rail, he engages the warderobe directory. After a few seconds of grim thought, he selects his destination. The scooter moves off at high speed.

Within seconds, the Cat is nearing a particular clothes-rack, deep within the warderobe. The scooter stops, and the Cat steps off. He carefully selects the suit he wants, then looks around for a changing cubicle. He spots one nearby, and steps inside.

There really is no practical point to these changing cubicles. The Cat is, after all, totally alone in his wardrobe. However, it suits his vanity to be surrounded by unobstructed mirrors on all six sides while changing his clothes - and that is exactly what these changing cubicles are - walled with mirrors, with mirrored ceiling and (non-slip) mirrored floor.

The Cat emerges from the cubicle, brandishing the bazookoid. He is now dressed in (extremely fashionable) combat fatigues, with matching combat accessories. With a feral grin that wouldn't look out of place on a tiger, he chambers a round.

CAT: (With a twirl.) Some slime- monster is about to learn that it's worst nightmare is a well-dressed Cat with a bazookoid!

Practically strutting now, he hops on board the scooter - and stops. Frowning, he sniffs the air.

It is a well-known fact that cats have a sixth sense. The Cat, of course, shares this non-primate ability: a sort of nasal intuition. Right now it's telling him: "Hey, buddy, something doesn't smell right." Carefully, the Cat dismounts and, sniffing the air, sets off to track down the source of the unpleasant psionic odour. He quickly finds it.

A torn grill on the air-coditioning system. A trail of slime, with odiferous socks embedded in it, leading into the heart of his warderobe. The Cat hisses in anger, and gives pursuit.

CAT: Nobody invades this Cat's territory and gets away with it!

The monster is unaware of the Cat's stealthy approach. It is in front of a mirror, trying on jackets, hats, shoes - and is, indeed, already wearing several. As it puts on each article of clothing, the clothes begin to decompose. The jackets which it has been wearing for the longest are mere mouldy rags. The Cat takes all this in for several seconds, his face a study in apoplectic fury. He then checks the charge on his bazookoid, and steps out from behind the clothes-rack.

CAT: Hey, you! Get your slimy socks off my shoes!

The Cat opens fire. The creature whirls and ducks at the sound of the Cat's voice, and the bazookoid blast shatters the mirror. The creature rises, eyes glowing red. It stretches higher... and higher... to a hight of several metres. One appendage rises slowly to point straight at the Cat...

CAT: uh-oh.

The creature lets loose a slimy sock. Cat dodges, and the sock strikes a nearby suit. The suit immediately starts to melt.

CAT: Run for it!

He takes his own advice, ducking and diving through the racks of suits, pursued by the creature. He reaches his scooter, and jumps onboard. He punches in instructions - to the exit, maximum speed. The scooter zooms off.

Cat's scooter reaches the main aisle of the warderobe. He starts to relax - then happens to glance behind. The creature is on another scooter, about 20 metres back. It fires three dirty socks at him. Cat blasts two of these out of the air, and dodges the other one. He activates the manual controls, and sends the scooter swooping off amongst the racks of clothes. The creature follows. Cat locks the controls, then dives off the scooter and into the clothing racks - landing on his feet, as always. As the creature's scooter shoots past, Cat lets loose with the bazookoid. The creature gives a startled screech as the fireballs rip into it. Cat leaps out of hiding - to find himself facing an empty scooter, spinning slowly in the air. The creature has vanished. The Cat turns round, listening carefully. The creature can be heard in the distance, moving towards...

CAT: The exit!

He heads back towards the main aisle at a dead run.


The Cat bursts out of the warderobe - to find his room empty. A trail of slime and ichor leads straight out of the warderobe into the middle of the room, where it stops suddenly. The Cat frowns, looking around the walls and ceiling. A motion catches his eye - the hatch covering the laundry chute is swinging slightly to and fro. The Cat snarls in frustration, then palms open the door and heads for the laundry room.

Kryten is still ironing when Cat arrives. All the running and jumping has taken its toll on the Cat: He is wheezing and gasping when he enters.

KRYTEN: Mr. Cat, sir! Are you feeling alright? You seem quite breathless!
CAT: S..s..s...
KRYTEN: Have you been jogging? Oh, that is excellent! Wonderful exercise, jogging: strengthens the heart, tones the muscles...

The Cat signals a frantic "No".

CAT: S..s..s
KRYTEN: "S"? "S" what? Oh, I see! "I Spy"! Oh, I do love that game! We used to play it all the time on the Nova 5! Let me see now... shirt?
CAT: (gasps) No!
KRYTEN: Um, shoe?
CAT: No, it's a..

Behind Kryten's back, the laundry shute starts to open.

KRYTEN: Don't tell me! Please, sir, do not tell me! I hate it when people do that!

While he is talking, the sock-monster eases out of the laundry shute.

KRYTEN: Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have people tell you... sir, what IS the matter? You seem to have gone quite pale.

The monster rears up behind Kryten.

CAT: SOCK-MONSTER! KRYTEN: Oh my goodness! Sir, what is going on?
CAT: It's Lister's dirty laundry! It's come to life and got a mind of it's own!
KRYTEN: If I may suggest, sir... (He ducks to avoid a pair of corrosive underpants) ... if we herd it into the ... (And dodges a flailing tentacle) ...industrial washing machine... (and dives as Cat lets loose with a flurry of Bazookoid bolts) ... we may be able to finish it off.
CAT: Right with you!

Kryten grabs a fire extinguisher and starts to herd the sock-monster in the direction of the washing machines. CAt follows, firing at any tentacle that tries to sneak past Kryten.

KRYTEN: It's working! The water in the fire extinguisher would shrink it - it recognises that! It's retreating!

The creature is at the mouth of the washing machine before it realises its peril. It thrashes wildly, trying to get past Kryten and Cat without getting hit by the bazookoid or the water spray.

CAT: Eat detergent, you filthy pile of laundry!

He fires. the bazookoid bolt hits the creature dead centre, and it tumbles backwards into the machine. Kryten slams the hatch shut and starts up the machine.

KRYTEN: I've set it for maximum spin and duration. It should do the trick.

Just then, Rimmer and Lister enter, argueing fiercly

RIMMER: Bet you ten-to-one there are burnt holes in every one.
LISTER: Not a chance! Kryten's better at ironing than... that...

He gazes around the totalled laundry room.

LISTER: What the smeg has been going on here? This place looks like a disaster zone! These sheets have all got holes burnt in them!

The Cat snarls a reply as he brushes past.

CAT: We've been doing your laundry.

Lister and Rimmer watch the Cat leave, bemused.

RIMMER: Now what do you suppose is the matter with him?

The End

Well I've seen (er read) every thing now!! A sock monster...well really!!!... reminds me of an episode off the kids show 'bump in the night"