(THEME MUSIC)
(OMINOUS INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
(HEROIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
- Twenty-seven days. - What?
We've been following Servalan for 27 days.
Course 6-4-5-3, nil curvature, standard by three...
never mind the occasional ion cloud or asteroid cluster, just blast away...
through them, she's gone mad or dead. That's it, she's dead.
We're following a rogue star-cruiser. I am bored.
You're boring, Vila.
There is only Calcos left.
What would Servalan want with a penal colony?
Who knows?
Perhaps she wants to compare notes with some other genocidal maniacs.
Or take a refresher course in basic brutality.
- It's not Calcos. - Not?
She's already missed it.
She could always turn around and come back again, but why should she?
Because there's nowhere else to go.
No, there's nothing on the chart.
- We've come to the end. - A big zero.
The pioneers called it the Outer Darkness.
I tell you, she's mad. She's finally gone over the top.
That's an interesting viewpoint, Vila. Isn't it?
Came from talking to herself. Any other theories about paranoids...
Information. The present course has no material end.
Suggest transfer from linear progression to modular time shift.
(TARRANT) Suggestion rejected, Zen.
Just a moment. How long would it take...
for us to get somewhere using maximum time shift?
- One hundred and fifty-nine Earth years. - That's all I need.
And where will that bring us?
Repeat: There is no material destination on present course.
After 159 Earth years...
time-shift mechanism will cease to function.
- Can we go back now? - Avon, what do you think?
No. She must have a reason.
Servalan would not leave her headquarters...
or the bulk of her battle fleet...
unless she was very confident about something.
It's that confidence that intrigues me.
Is she deliberately taking us away from somewhere?
- Or leading us into a trap? - No, she doesn't know we're here.
No probe activity at all.
Why don't we just blast her out of existence once and for all?
Then, we would never know, would we?
What do you think, Vila? Me? I think we should go back.
There's not much scope for a man of my talents...
charm and good looks, on the other hand...
Vila!
Vila, please.
(OMINOUS INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
(MUSIC SLOWING)
Information. Forward sensors no longer register target ship.
That can't be right. Zen, full forward scan.
Negative response.
Zen, give us a visual playback from the point of last contact.
- It just went. - Cally, has it dematerialised?
It's unlikely. There's no sign of abnormal particle activity.
All right. Zen, maintain present course. Sensors on full alert.
- Speed standard by four. - Are you sure it's safe?
Is that an objection? Anyone?
Yes, I object. Strongly.
What was that?
Starboard navigation probe.
Zen, what's going on?
Navigation computers report high-energy interference with directional probes.
Automatic control untenable.
Battle stations!
Zen, this interference, is there any hostile design to it?
- There is a uniform design to it... - Is it hostile?
The word hostile is not objective.
This is no time to quibble over terminology.
(RUMBLING)
Forward navigation probes report approach speed inconsistent...
with safe planet fall.
Hull sensors indicate excessive atmospheric friction.
Look!
Collision imminent. Repeat, collision imminent.
Tarrant! Full deflection!
(DRAMATIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Chesil, I think I've got something.
- Aren't you going to report it? - No, wait.
- Poola, you must report it. - They may come back.
They won't. Why should they?
They don't know what's happening. And if they did, why should they care?
They may.
We must have hope, Chesil.
No.
There. It's done.
You have great courage, Poola.
- I only hope... - What?
No matter.
(SOLEMN INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
(SUSPENSEFUL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
- I think we've pulled clear of it. - Clear of what? What was it?
Zen, status report.
All systems functioning normally.
Automatic control, stabilise...
and give us a scan in a cone of 60 degrees.
Scan report, negative.
But, Zen, there was something. A planet, or...
So stop being pedantic, and give us the facts.
The planet's located at course zero degrees...
2,000 spacials.
We don't see anything.
The planet's stratosphere comprises two energy fields.
The inner is impervious, the outer, refractive to all medium-pulse emissions.
Thanks a lot, Zen.
Zen, give us a full laser scan and printout.
So, it's as simple as that. Light cannot get in and it cannot get out.
Nor can any other medium-pulse energy.
Nothing from gamma radiation to radio waves.
But there was light in there. Play back a visual of our entry.
Freeze it there.
If there's no sun, where does that light come from?
All light and other medium-pulse energy...
is governed by the energy-mass transformer...
located at grid reference 3-1-9 on the visual display.
Zen, full magnification, reference 3-1-9.
(SUSPENSEFUL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
So that's where she went.
- Maybe we should go now. - Go where?
- Somewhere a long way away. - Why do you say that?
Now there is technology and there is technology.
Anyone who can transmute mass and energy on a planetary scale...
will not be upset over my little sidearm.
Or a neutron blaster, come to that.
But there's no real reason to suppose they're hostile.
They're friendly with Servalan. That's hostile enough for me.
Quite.
Then that increases our obligation to find out what's going on.
- Obligation? - I agree with Cally.
Servalan with powerful friends doesn't bear thinking about.
We should've killed her when we had the chance.
- Yes, but we didn't. I'm going down. - How?
- Teleport. - It will be interesting to see...
what that energy field does to a teleport beam.
We'll take the Liberator through again and I'll teleport from there.
Why don't you land it right on top of their monitoring station...
just in case they haven't got the message?
Zen, was our entry monitored from the planet's surface?
Affirmative.
- So they know we're here. - Correction. They know we came...
and they know that we went away again.
One thing's for sure, next time they'll be ready for us.
(EXCITING INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
A meteor.
They do come from time to time. Some of them quite large.
They're of no consequence...
- So you erase their records? - Yes.
- Whenever they slip through. - Yes!
Even though they fire a gravity deflection thrust and slip back out again?
And where did this "meteor" land?
In the desert region.
How very convenient.
Convenient or not, that's what happened.
She lies. She must suffer.
I'm telling you the truth!
Give her to your men.
- Right, Lector, see to it. - Guard.
No!
- President Servalan is here with her aide. - Damn.
All right, let her in.
(SOFT INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
President Servalan, we are indeed most honoured.
- Lector, take her out of here, will you? - Yes, sir.
Madam President, help me!
Section Leader, the records were accurate.
Women, food, and inflicting pain, in no particular order.
The Fifth Legion always encouraged such virtues, Madam President.
They sharpen the spurs of duty.
Yes, I've come a long way Section Leader...
and it wasn't out of concern for your peccadilloes.
First, I shall require refreshment.
Yes, of course. I shall have some brought.
Attention. Unit Commander Lector here.
I want two men at the lower city gate, now.
We have a present for you. Move!
Right. They'll be waiting. Take her down.
Poola.
(DRAMATIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Such trivial questions should more properly be addressed...
to the ship's master computer.
I'm sorry if it's beneath your dignity, Orac, but Zen has no record...
of the planet in the databanks.
There's no sign of it in the federation charts.
The body to which you refer is Sardos, a large fixed meteoroid...
with a single colony of some 300 souls.
Are they friendly?
They are socially exclusive, but not unduly hostile.
What sort of answer is that?
A succinct one.
To elaborate, the Sardoans avoid any form of social contact...
which might lead to genetic change.
Their decision to avoid the normal evolutionary process...
followed exhaustive computer projections into their future.
- How far into their future? - Two million Earth years.
Nothing like planning ahead.
This is all very interesting, but how do I get down...
to the surface without teleporting through an energy field...
or letting these characters know I'm coming?
You must employ subtlety. Observe the visual display.
This is a T-16 space transporter, widely used by the former Federation...
for conveying troops before the Galactic War.
It carries no armament and no scanning devices.
Orac, we are all familiar with basic spacecraft recognition.
If you cannot listen to the answers...
why do you inconvenience me with questions?
Observe the layout.
The T-16 was poorly designed, and incorporates a useless cavity...
behind the central bulkhead, which is covered by a cosmetic partition.
The one who has the skill to remove this from the inside is Vila.
What's that? Oh, no. No to whatever it was.
Orac, please explain the significance of that.
The T-16 will enter teleport range...
in one minute, 17 seconds, en route for Sardos.
Zen, full reconnaissance. Cally!
Detectors confirm approaching space vehicle...
on tangent bearing 0-0, course 6-4-5.
- Confirm no probe activity. - Confirmed.
You're not seriously proposing to teleport.
Can you think of a better way?
I shall need the exact coordinates for that cavity.
They're probably on the T-16 design chip. Vila!
No. I'm staying here.
Come on, man. You wanted some excitement, now you've got it.
You heard what Orac said. I need you. Come on!
Isn't this a bit precipitous?
Tarrant is always precipitous. Or hadn't you noticed?
(SUSPENSEFUL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Tarrant?
Tarrant! Where are you?
(FESTIVE MUSIC)
(MUSIC GETS LOUDER)
- Tarrant! - Vila, I'm here.
What?
Vila, don't panic. Just don't panic.
She's missed. She got her coordinates wrong.
- I'm going back. - Vila, wait!
It's fine for you, you're not stuck out here.
(CHEERING)
- What was that? - I don't know. I'm not going to wait.
- I'm going back. - Vila, listen to me!
Halfway down the partition, there's a cover. Loosen it.
- Are you hearing me? - Yes.
Do it!
I can't, it'll take too long.
You can, and the sooner you get started the sooner we'll both be out of danger.
Stop flapping, and move yourself.
I didn't want to come in the first place.
I knew somehow that this would happen. It always does...
and it always happens to me.
She didn't get your coordinates wrong. You don't have that luck.
I've had it.
This is positively the last time.
Hurry, Vila. I think we're landing.
As soon as we get somewhere civilised, I'm off out of it.
I can look after myself, always have done before.
Got you, chappie.
You're looking for somewhere civilised? You won't find it in there!
I haven't seen you before. You a stowaway?
Yes, but don't worry about it, old son. What's it matter?
You just leave it to your old Uncle Doran. Why, come on with me. Come on.
- Thank you very much, but... - Don't be shy.
Wait a second, I mean....
Now, take a pot, and come and join the fest.
And if anyone says anything at all...
you just point them at Doran.
It's a party, isn't it?
More wine.
Real wine, from grapes, you know. You like wine?
Not particularly, no.
You'll like this. It loosens you up. We've got coffee, too, from beans.
- I like the real stuff, food and drink. - I've noticed.
Mind you, I wouldn't care to choose between gluttony...
and good old-fashioned lust.
Probably have to opt for some middle course, like cannibalism.
What do you say, Lector, bit of dressing and an apple between her teeth, eh?
Section Leader Grose, what happened to Col. Astrid?
Col. Astrid, he met with an accident.
- And his second in command? - He met with an accident, too.
It was a very bad time for accidents.
I see. And you assumed full command.
Of course, the demands of duty. I was next in line.
You were just a section leader aboard a flagship...
serving under two pilot captains and a brigade commander.
Did they all meet with accidents, too?
There was a war on. We were in hot pursuit of the alien fleet.
I take it that you fully maintained the S and D log.
S and D?
As commanding officer of the ship, which role you dutifully assumed...
Section Leader, you are responsible for drawing up a record...
of the serviceability and disposition of all units in the Fifth Legion.
Oh, that.
- So, where is my fleet? - Your fleet.
All that's left of your fleet is one T-16 troop carrier, slightly soiled.
Lector, when's it due in?
Should be in now. Touched down 10 minutes ago.
- Any problems? - Not that I know of.
Section Leader...
I came here in response to your urgent request...
that I resume personal command...
of the Federation's most effective and powerful legion.
Are you telling me that legion no longer exists?
- Yep. - And my flagship?
We crashed into this planet in the dark. I mean, it's easily done.
We're lucky to be alive.
Perhaps you will think differently after your court-martial.
I shall give you an hour to get your personal effects...
then you report back to me.
- Where are you going? - Back to my ship.
No.
Madam President, it must seem to you that we've brought you here...
under false pretences, but, please, there's no need...
to return to your ship. We've made extravagant preparations for you, and....
And?
There are things we want you to see.
This is no ordinary planet.
(SINGING FESTIVELY)
(CHEERING)
- You all right? - Yes, I'm all right.
You know, I'm not a sentimental man, Vila.
Not sentimental.
You believe me, don't you?
Of course I do, Doran.
But when they dragged me into that prison cell...
they said, "Look at the sun".
"Look at the sun", they said.
"Cause as long as you live, you'll never see the sun again".
And I haven't. In 15 years, I've never seen the sun.
Or a woman.
Till now.
You two, come on!
Right.
- Vila! - Tarrant?
- We've got to get out of here. - I can't. Just a minute.
- Doran! - Come on!
Let go, will you? I can't just leave him.
Will you take your hands off me.
- Let go. - What are you doing to my pal?
Come on!
- You want some more? - No, leave him, Doran.
- Quick, before you're missed. - What about him?
Never mind him.
There was no need for what you did to him.
- Vila, we have to get out of here. - You said that before.
Vila!
Will you just stop shoving me around? I've had enough!
I'm very sorry for pushing you around...
and for hitting your pal, can we get on with the job?
- You don't understand, do you? - I understand this much...
Servalan's down here for a reason.
I want the reason and then I want to kill her.
It's all very simple.
You have to do what you think is best.
So do I.
One way or another, you're coming with me.
If it comes down to that, Tarrant, there isn't really a lot of point, is there?
(AVON) We shouldn't have made him go.
He's a free man. He didn't have to go if he didn't want to.
He was under pressure. Tarrant playing the hero is his decision, but Vila?
If he wants to come, he has to ask.
Using a medium-pulse communicator through a medium-pulse energy block?
He knows how to change the frequency.
He may not have time, and what if he does?
We bring him up.
By teleport?
By teleport using a short-pulse omicron beam.
- I know how to do it. - We've never done it before.
We've never been in a situation like this before.
Avon!
It's just not on here, at least, I can't see it.
What?
The troop carrier. I've got the astrodome, and Servalan's ship.
But there's no sign at all of the T-16.
There wouldn't be. It's a recorded image.
Zen gave us that before the T-16 had arrived.
Apart from which, you're looking in the wrong place.
Troop carrier came in at tangent 0-1-1...
which would put it down outside the city entirely.
So why should Servalan put her troops down there?
They are not Servalan's troops.
Their ship came in on an entirely different course.
- Where from? - Can't you guess?
- Calcos? - Right.
Now ask yourself why they should be shipping in men from a penal colony.
(BEEPING)
The communicator. They're trying to get through.
No. We daren't risk giving away our position.
Zen, can you unscramble what they say?
Negative. The verbal distortion is being caused...
Thank you, Zen. We know what's causing it.
Dayna, get a locator fix. We'll have to risk bringing them up.
We can't, not yet. The teleport's still on medium pulse.
- It'll take me 20 minutes. - If they've got 20 minutes.
Zen, confirm that communication is being monitored on the surface.
Confirmed.
I shouldn't have asked.
Cally, this is Tarrant. Respond, please.
Can you hear me?
Cally, this is Tarrant. Respond, please.
(OMINOUS INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
We always know.
Even when you're stupid enough to press "erase".
Main gate.
Guard...
we have an intruder at 9-2-8, sophisticated and armed.
But not for very long.
Avon, Cally, Dayna, anyone, can you hear me?
It's Tarrant. He's coming through.
It took him long enough to work out the frequency.
I need to come up. It should be possible if you adjust...
the teleport to omicron pulse length.
Cally, are you hearing me? I need teleport now.
Cally, now!
- Shall I try and raise him? - We can't risk it.
But Tarrant is...
Tarrant is not as important as the Liberator.
- How long, Cally? - Four minutes. The omicron's charging.
- Tell me when it's ready. I'm going down. - Wait!
I'm coming with you.
That's where their flagship crashed.
You can guess at the impact by the size of the crater.
Go and take a look but you won't find anything worth salvaging.
Our life capsules came down just beyond.
And who are those men?
Them? Just vermin. Every planet has them.
And every planet has craters, Section Leader.
I fail to see anything extraordinary here.
You want to see something extraordinary?
I didn't cross the galaxy to watch an assortment of planetary flotsam...
bedding down on a crater.
Very well then, Madam President. Something extraordinary.
- Vila. - Yes, what is it?
Gear, gun, uniform.
- Welcome to the ranks. - What's that for?
- Bed. - I can't sleep on that.
How long did you say you were on Calcos?
I mean, I don't know about you...
but I'll have problems sleeping any other way.
You know, it's funny what you think about in a place like that.
I used to imagine I was the commander of a starship...
cruising about the galaxy, committing every crime in the book.
I never thought that one day it'd come true.
Won't be the same, though.
Doing them things. I mean, not if they want me to do them.
What things?
Criminals, aren't we?
Now, you're a thief.
Not that I can see where the fun is in thieving.
I can see why it might be useful to them but there's no fun in it.
- My problem was always women. - You like them?
No.
You wanted to see something extraordinary?
This is it.
The ultimate technology.
The gadget by which the entire economy of this planet works.
Lector.
You. Give me your sidearm.
Come on, I shan't use it on you.
- Very impressive! - It is. Don't doubt it.
Every fact, every detail there is to know about that weapon is now recorded...
right down to the molecular structure and the disposition of the particles.
So you have a very efficient particle scanner.
That's not all.
Now that the computer has the pattern...
it can produce an endless stream of them...
or anything else that you program into it.
How?
Energy-mass transmuter.
Takes ordinary planetary matter, usually rock...
and converts it into energy.
The computer then restructures it into matter of every kind.
Precious stones?
Gems, crystals, anything,
so long as you've got the original pattern to work from.
- And how did you discover all this? - Me? I didn't.
It was Col. Astrid. I merely subdued the natives.
It didn't take too much.
They rely too heavily on their energy field.
Though give them their due, the only way you can find this planet...
is by crashing into it.
No, it was Astrid who saw the value of this stuff...
and Astrid who designed Moloch to look after it.
Moloch?
Master computer. Sees all, hears all...
and occasionally says something.
And how many of these devices are there?
Dozens. Hundreds. I use them for everything.
Food, clothing, building, engineering. Yes, some of them are very big.
You'd be surprised.
Very well, Section Leader, you've convinced me.
There are ways I could put this system to profitable use.
A great many ways, Madam President.
More ways than you've begun to realise.
But that isn't why I summoned you to Sardos.
Would you say that again?
I brought you here because you had something I hadn't. Something I needed.
A pattern.
A Mark Two star....
That's my ship.
My ship.
The flagship of a fleet that grows with every hour.
Guard!
You see, it is a perfect, working copy.
And I suppose that machine turns out perfect, working space captains, too.
No.
If you think of this mouse as a space captain...
- it's perfectly healthy, as you can see. - I'll take your word for it.
We make duplicates.
That's how they come out.
Perfect copies but not working.
Col. Astrid said they lacked a life-support system to carry them...
through the trauma of molecular integration.
I took it to mean they snuffed it before they got going properly.
Still, no matter. We've got men enough. And more coming.
Those men in the crater?
You have miscalculated badly, Grose.
It takes a clever man five years in Space Academy...
before he even begins to acquire the basic skills...
and experience necessary to pilot an advanced star cruiser.
All taken care of, Madam President.
We find a suitable pilot, the scanner gets all the details...
then Moloch sifts the skills and experiences...
and programs them into an automatic control system.
So long as our men can speak, their ship's computers do all the rest.
Unfortunately, when it came to skills, your pilots didn't have much to offer.
- Where are my pilots? - Internment camp.
Doubtless I shall think of some suitably entertaining way to execute them.
They're no use to me.
No, we found a much more enterprising pattern to work from.
Now this is a starship captain who knows the lot.
A shame he's got to die, too.
All very clever, Section Leader.
But now perhaps I should tell you something.
Shortly before he died, Col. Astrid sent me a report.
What it said gave me serious doubts about your loyalty.
Serious enough for me to leave precise instructions with my Supreme Command.
If you persist with this treachery...
this planet will be blasted into outer darkness where it belongs.
Madam President...
if your reconstituted Federation was worth a light...
you wouldn't have chased across the galaxy to retrieve one legion.
My fleet already outnumbers yours.
Soon it'll be the most powerful in the galaxy.
Apart from which, I didn't murder Col. Astrid.
Perhaps you'd care to say hello?
He's perfectly all right, healthy, well-nourished.
There's just no contact, that's all.
No sensory perception.
He just floats there in a dark, lonely nothingness.
Why?
He went berserk. Tried to smash up the computer.
Seemed reasonable to let the computer think up a punishment for him.
And that's what Moloch came up with.
Perhaps we'll ask him to suggest something for you.
Give her to your men.
It seems you've outstayed your welcome.
You'll suffer for this, Grose.
The computer control room is situated within the complex...
at grid 6-2-2 and the focal centre precisely...
seven meters west of the entrance to this room.
- Bit vague, isn't it, Orac. - I said, precisely.
Pocket chart.
Perhaps I should ask Orac to estimate our chances.
I'd rather not know.
All right, Cally, put us down exactly there.
What do I do if Vila calls?
Bring him up.
And that goes for us, too.
At the first squeak.
(SUSPENSEFUL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Nothing.
This is it, computer control. Unless Orac has got his wires twisted.
Perhaps you need an invitation.
Or a more enthusiastic approach. Stand back.
(MEN LAUGHING)
Didn't I tell you we was in for the high life?
Bedding, uniform, cheerful company of your fellow man?
- What else is there? - A hot meal?
A woman. I promised you a woman.
Didn't I?
That's a partner of mine, I thought...
"What the hell, Vila likes a woman".
Here he is.
There you are. Love at first sight. Knew you'd get along.
Don't be shy.
Go on.
I should have known it was Tarrant he was talking about.
- Right. Now, then. - No, Vila, listen.
Untie me, and then we can help each other.
I never imagined you as the sort that would grovel for her life.
- I am not grovelling, you fool. I mean it. - You are grovelling.
I am not! They've got Tarrant.
I can show you where they're holding him.
At least I can suggest where to start looking.
Why should you want to?
Because they're holding two of my pilots there as well.
Now are you going to untie me or not?
Last I saw Tarrant, I was looking down the end of his gun.
So why are we on opposite sides?
If this is what I think it is, it's incredible.
- This room's creepy. - What?
Creepy.
Avon!
Be careful.
- How did they get into the building? - I don't know.
Move in on the man.
Watch them.
Vila, you really must try and be a bit more trusting.
- We're both in exactly... - I'm not going to tell you again.
Now what is it?
Well? What are you going to do?
We'll have to find a way to get round him.
What for?
- He's armed. - You're armed.
- Yes, but... - Give me the gun. I'll see to it.
No, I will.
Watch out!
(DRAMATIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Vila, you always were a miserable coward.
Give me the teleport bracelet. It's no use to you!
Give it to me!
Vila, you really must try and be a bit more trusting.
Have you checked for surveillance devices?
No.
You'd better do it then, hadn't you?
Avon, look!
It's horrible. What's he doing there?
Being fairly inscrutable, I would say.
- There's a pulse in his neck. - He's alive?
He's being kept alive.
No reaction. He's completely cut off.
- You call that living? - Technically, it is.
Effectively, it's just a brain floating around in some lukewarm water.
Strictly speaking, he doesn't really need his senses...
because he is in a totally efficient life-support system.
- Yes, but why is he hanging... - Just a minute.
Let me think about this. Close him down.
These people...
have built a machine...
that will give them everything they need at the touch of a button.
- They've still got to control it all. - The computer controls it.
They don't need to do anything.
And, in evolutionary terms, what you don't need, you lose.
Yes, but it's all physical. Somebody has to press the buttons.
Now they do. I'm not talking about now.
I don't follow.
Orac told us that the Sardoans...
had made a detailed computer projection...
into their future.
Yes, they wanted to see what their race would be like in two million years' time.
Right. Supposing they put that computer projection onto a card like this...
and then put it into the machine.
The card simply carries information.
It can be a particle scan from a real object...
or a computer projection.
The machine doesn't mind. Either way, it will deliver the goods.
Yes, but not a life, surely. With a heart, and nervous system...
it'd all be too delicate.
It will, if the program carries a built-in life-support system...
a machine to do the work of the organs.
Like his?
No.
That's where the theory breaks down. He's far too vulnerable.
In order to evolve, and to survive for two million years...
he would have to be in control of his environment.
He would have to be at the very centre of a sophisticated technical complex...
which, if Orac has got his sums right, is not there.
But, seven meters due west of the entrance ought to be precisely...
that thing there.
Don't move.
Drop your communicators.
Do it!
Over there.
(DRAMATIC INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
You know, you really picked a stupid place to do your trespassing.
Vila.
Don't try anything smart. I've been conned enough for one day.
- Where's Servalan? - She's gone.
So how come you're not dead?
She came, she blasted off with her sidearm...
grabbed her two pilots and went.
Maybe she had other things on her mind. I don't know. I don't care all that much.
- Let's get cover, before we're seen. - All right.
Before we go any further, I want you to know...
that I didn't steal this uniform off a dead guard. I was issued it.
So?
They were gonna make me a starship captain.
Just as long as you know.
All you got for your cleverness was an execution order on your head.
I take the point. You're obviously far cleverer than I.
- Right. - This is where we're going.
What? Where are we going?
- To destroy a computer. - Why?
It knows too much about me.
It isn't the information we want as such.
It's the fun of extracting it. We can be very crude like that, can't we?
Crude, yeah. Crude as they come.
We could put you through the particle scanner...
and get the computer to tell us everything.
But there's no fun in that.
There's something satisfying...
about a good, old-fashioned interrogation.
That's a convincing argument, but it does have a flaw.
Go on.
If interrogation were simply a way of satisfying your sadistic whims...
you would cut the chat and get on with the torture.
(LECTOR) We will. Don't worry.
You see, I happen to know that you put Tarrant through the particle scanner.
All the answers, why we came here, what we came for...
how we arrived on the planet.
Everything you wanted to know could easily be deduced...
from information that you already have.
Yes, that information is there, if we care to sift through it and analyse.
Why don't you ask your computer?
Because we're asking you.
Or is it because the computer won't tell you?
You are interrogating the wrong subject.
You should be asking your computer why it has chosen to withhold information.
It hasn't chosen to do anything.
I told you. It needs to be sifted and analysed.
A computer should be able to do that in microseconds.
Lector.
That man has an injured wrist.
He seems to have got over the initial discomfort.
All right, what's it all about? What's going on?
I don't know what you mean.
Yes, you do, lady. You know what I'm on about. These eyes are everywhere.
What do you want?
I don't want aggravating.
Because when Doran gets aggravated, he kills people.
Now, what have they done to him?
Done to who?
My pal, that's who.
What have they done to my pal?
- Your pal? I don't know who you mean. - There he is.
I see him.
There's no question. That's my pal from Calcos.
How do you know it's your pal?
He dropped his gun, didn't he?
- He's not from Calcos. - Of course, he is.
For thieving, that's what.
The starship.
They're from the starship.
Wait a minute! Where are you off to?
Listen, they're here to help us. We knew one day it would happen.
Somebody would come. I must go to them.
But wait, lady. That's my pal! I'm on his side.
Come on.
I shall ask you once again.
Where do you come from?
Why did you come here, and how did you arrive on this planet?
- Guess. - Lector.
(GROANING)
- Here's my pal. - Doran.
Where's the computer room?
For the last time...
where do you come from, why did you come here...
and how did you arrive on this planet?
All right. Enough.
- We're from the Liberator. - The Liberator?
That's Blake's ship.
He liked to think so.
And why did you come here?
I wish I knew.
Hold it, Keep it very still.
Release them.
Watch it. Watch it.
Drop your guns.
Go on, drop them!
Right, up there. Move!
Now you.
You're wasting your time. Every move is being monitored.
You'd better hope nobody comes. Because if they do...
(RAY GUN SHOOTING)
Went off in me hand, didn't it?
Tarrant!
Careful of my wrist, Vila, it's had enough.
- Who's got a bracelet? - On the machine.
Get it.
Who did that?
Never mind the bracelet. We've got to get out of here.
Doran!
It's that thing. Get away from there. It can protect itself.
- Protect itself? What is it? - Get away from there. Move!
- Who are you? - (COMPUTERISED VOICE) I am Moloch.
(AVON) Yes. That is how I reasoned you would look.
For a man of your era...
you have uncommon powers of deduction, Avon.
He knows you.
- I know each one of you. - What is it?
A man from our future.
Someone was stupid enough to take a computer prediction...
and turn it into reality.
Col. Astrid, he caused my being.
Then tried to destroy me.
- What do you want with us? - The Liberator.
A perfect vehicle through which to express myself.
Servalan was merely the bait to bring you here.
No, Dayna.
There is nothing any one of you can do.
The Liberator is mine.
Cally will never take you aboard. Never.
She will, Tarrant.
She will. She will.
She will.
Cally, this is Tarrant.
Not before time.
Ready for teleport.
But, Avon...
For a man of his era, to coin a phrase...
he has just made a hell of a stupid mistake.
Mistake? What mistake?
Cally, this is Avon.
We'll be ready to teleport in two minutes.
How many bracelets do you think we're going to need?
(INTENSE INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
He falsely assumed that the technology and computers were an integral part...
of himself, like an arm or a leg...
but take him off life support and that's what you get.
That's what the teleport did to him?
How will the Sardoans make out without him?
Better, I should imagine, and so will Col. Astrid...
once he gets out of that chamber.
Their main problem is likely to be a group...
of unemployed villains from Calcos.
Do them good.
A stuck-up bunch on Sardos, I heard.
Information. Three alien spacecraft in hostile formation...
bearing 0-0-9, two million spacials.
Flight deck!
(FAST-PACED INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC)
Zen, enemy position!
One million spacials.
We have visual contact with hostile commander.
Put her on.
Liberator, this is Servalan, President and Supreme Commander...
of the Terran Federation.
You are outnumbered, and at a tactical disadvantage.
If you surrender your ship...
- Do we fight? - Certainly not. We run.
Zen, course 0-1-1, speed, standard by six.
Get us out of here.
(THEME MUSIC)