Monty Python's Tech Infantry

by Martin Hohner

Episode One: Whither Hodraida?

 

(Opening Credits: Techno-thrash remix of John Philip Sousa's "Liberty Bell March" over cartoon showing giant feet stepping on starships.)

 

(Title Card: It's Auntie Sarah!)

 

(Opening Scene: Auntie Sarah in full evening gown, sitting at piano tinkling with the keys. She finishes tinkling.)

 

AUNTIE SARAH:  Hello again, and welcome to the show.  Tonight we continue to look at some famous deaths.  Tonight we start with the wonderful death of Karl Von Shrakenberg, the Hero of Hadley III.  Take it away, Karl.

 

(Cut to the bridge of the EFS Hachiman.  Admiral Karl Von Shrakenberg sits in a heroic pose in his command chair.  Soft background noises of sensors beeping and the low hum of the engines.  Suddenly the noises cut out and Karl with a squawk throws himself in the air and lands on his back.  This happens very suddenly.  Cut to Judges holding up cards with points on, in the manner of ice skating judges.)

 

VOICE OVER:  9.1… 9.3… 9.7… that's 28.1 for Karl Von Shrakenberg.

 

(Sarah still at piano.)

 

MOZART:  Bad luck, Karl.  Nice to have you on the show.  And now here are the scores.

(Scoreboard with Eddie Waring figure standing by it.  The scoreboard looks a little like this:)

 

                                                Abdul Johnson                        29.9

                                                Rashid King                            29.3

                                                Elizabeth                                 29.1

                                                Alastar Dimiye                        29.0

                                                Dr. Hadith (F.W.T.)                 28.2

                                                Karl Von Shrakenberg             28.1

                                                Justine Macoure                        3.1

 

EDDIE:  Well, there you can see the scores now.  Abdul Johnson in the lead there with his assassination, then comes Rashid King in the council chambers, a grand death that, then the very lovely Elizabeth, Childe of Modred, then Alastar Dimiye with his Dead Boys—best of friends with the Fly Girls in the showers afterwards—then Doctor Hadith of the Frontier World Territories, a grand little chap that, and number six Karl Von Shrakenberg, and the back marker Justine Macoure.  Back to you, Marshal!

 

AUNTIE SARAH: (still at piano)  Thank you, Eddie.  And now time for this week's request death.  (taking card off piano)  For Mr. and Mrs. Stephanie Harrington of Van Deimen III, the death of Mr. Marko Vitek, of Earth.

 

(Cut to a lounge setting.  Mr Vitek sitting in chair.)

 

VITEK:  Strewth! (he dies)

 

(Sarah still there. She looks at watch.)

 

MOZART:  Oh blimey, how time flies.  Sadly, we are reaching the end of yet another programme, and so it is finale time.  We are proud to be bringing to you one of the evergreen bucket kickers.  Yes, the wonderful death of the famous Major-General Arthur Clarke.

 

(Cut to a modern office block, as high as possible.  After a pause, a body flies out of the top window looking as much like a tiger in power armor as possible.  As it plummets there is a strangled scream.)

 

CLARKE:  I'll get you for this, Treschi!

 

(The body hits the ground.  There is the loud thump.  Two TI troopers in power armor saunter over.)

 

TROOPER #1:  Hey, isn't that Arthur Clarke?

 

TROOPER #2:  Oh yes, the, uh, the Siberian Bastet...  What's, uh...  What's wrong with him?

 

T1:  I'll tell you what's wrong with him, my lad.  'E's dead, that's what's wrong with him!

 

T2:  No, No, 'e's, uh, 'e's resting.

 

T1:  Look, matey, I know a dead were-tiger when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.

 

T2:  No no, he's not dead, he's, he's restin'!  Remarkable clan, the Siberian Bastet, idn'it, ay?  Beautiful Stripes!

 

T1:  The coloration don't enter into it.  It's stone dead.

 

T2:  Nononono, no, no!  'E's resting!

 

T1:  All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!  (shouting at the body)  'Ello, Major-General Clarke!  I've got a lovely fresh bowl of Frosted Flakes for you if you show...  (Trooper #2 kicks the body)

 

T2:  There, he moved!

 

T1:  No, he didn't, that was you kicking his leg!

 

T2:  I never!!

 

T1:  Yes, you did!

 

T2:  I never, never did anything...

 

T1:  (yelling and hitting the body repeatedly)  'ELLO RAPTOR!!!!  Testing!  Testing!  Testing!  Testing!  This is your nine o'clock alarm call!

(Takes one arm of the body and thumps it on the ground.  Picks up the body, throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the grass.)

 

T1:  Now that's what I call a dead Raptor.

 

T2:  No, no...  No, 'e's stunned!

 

T1:  STUNNED?!?

 

T2:  Yeah!  You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!  Siberian Bastets stun easily, major.

 

T1:  Um... now look... now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this.  That trooper is definitely deceased, and when we passed this way not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that his total lack of movement was due to his bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged fight at The Rage.

 

T2:  Well, he's... he's, ah... probably pining for the tundra.

 

T1:  PININ' FOR THE TUNDRA?!???!?  What kind of talk is that?  Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got up to leave?

 

T2:  The Siberian Bastet prefers kippin' on it's back!  Remarkable breed, id'nit, squire?  Lovely stripage!

 

T1:  Look, I took the liberty of examining that trooper when you were out having a smoke, and I discovered the only reason that it had been wearing that power armor in the first place was that it had been NAILED on.

 

T2:  (pause)  Well, o'course it was nailed on!  If I hadn't nailed that armor on, it would have stripped off its armor, grabbed his magic sword, and VOOM!  Feeweeweewee!

 

T1:  "VOOM"?!?  Mate, this tiger wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it!  'E's bleedin' demised!

 

T2:  No no!  'E's pining!

 

T1:  'E's not pinin'!  'E's passed on!  This were-tiger is no more!  He has ceased to be!  'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker!  'E's a stiff!  Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace!  If you hadn't nailed him into his armor, 'e'd be pushing up the daisies!  'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory!  'E's off the twig!  'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!!  He's fuckin' snuffed it!  THIS IS AN EX-TIGER!!!

 

T2:  (pause)  Well, the Tech Infantry'd better replace him, then.  (he takes a quick peek at a datapad with a trooper roster)  Sorry squire, I've had a look at the current Raptor general staff, and uh, we're right out of were-tigers.

 

T1:  I see.  I see, I get the picture.

 

T2:  (pause)  I got a guy named "Treschi".

 

T1:  (pause)  Pray, can he enter Crinos form?

 

T2:  Nnnnot really.

 

T1:  WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?

 

T2:  Well!  I never wanted to do this in the first place.  I wanted to be... AN EARTH FLEET OFFICER!

 

(A piano starts playing in the background.  Trooper#2 takes off his power armor helmet to reveal that he is wearing an Earth Fleet Uniform.)

 

T2:  Swooping from star to star!  As we float in zero-gee through the mighty asteroid belts of Proxima Centauri!  With my best girl by my side!

(A cute young blonde, Johanna Ingolfsson, comes up and hangs on his arm.  A chorus of Earth Fleet shore patrol policemen starts humming in the background.)

The Moons!

The Planets!

The Jovian Gas Giants!

The Nebulae!

The little blinking neutron pulsars!

We'd sing!  Sing!  Sing!

Oh, I'm in Earth Fleet and I'm okay,

I sleep all night and I fight all day!

 

CHORUS:  He's in Earth Fleet, and he's okay,

                    He sleeps all night and he fights all day.

 

T2: I fly my ship, I eat my lunch,

      I go to the lav-a-tree.

      On Wednesdays I go shoppin'

      And have gloppit eggs for tea!

 

SHORE PATROL: He flies his ship, he eats his lunch,

                                He goes to the lavatree.

                                On Wednesdays he goes shoppin'

                                And has gloppit eggs for tea.

 

T2:  I fly my ship, I skip and jump,

        Dart through the star-filled sky!

        My legs are really skinny,

        And I have an extra eye!

 

MOUNTIES:  He blows up gates, he skips and jumps,

                        Darts through the star-filled sky!

                        His legs are really skinny,

                        And he has an extra… eye???????

 

T2:  I fly my ship, I wear high heels,

        An egg-pouch, and a bra.

        I wish I'd been a Jurvain,

        Just like my dear papa.

 

MOUNTIES:  He flies his ship, he wears high heels

                        An Egg-pouch and… a bra????

 

 (Shore Patrol chorus breaks off song, and begins insulting Trooper#2.) 

 

Johanna: (crying) I thought you were so human!

 

(Cut to a bed-and-breakfast on New Paris.  Knock.  Door opens.)

 

LANDLADY:  Hello, Chairman and Mrs. Johnson, isn't it?

 

JOHNSON:  Yes, that's right.  Yes.

 

LANDLADY:  Oh, come on in.  Excuse me not shaking hands, I've just been putting a bit of lard on the cat's boil.  (Door closes)

 

JOHNSON:  Very nice.

 

LANDLADY:  Oh, you must be tired.  It's a long trip from Avalon, isn't it?

 

JOHNSON:  Yes, well, we usually reckon on five and a half hours and it took us six hours and 53 minutes, with a 25 minute wait at Von Eisenstein Transfer Station to stretch our legs; only we had to wait half an hour to get into the Digital Gate.

 

LANDLADY:  Well you must be dying for a cup of tea.

 

JOHNSON:  Well, wouldn't say no, long as it's warm and wet.

 

LANDLADY:  Well come on in the lounge, I'm just about to serve afternoon tea.

 

JOHNSON:  Very nice.

 

LANDLADY:  Come on in, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and meet Mr. and Mrs. Dunmeyer.

 

MRS. DUNMEYER:  Good afternoon.

 

JOHNSON:  Good afternoon.

 

LANDLADY:  It's their third year with us; we can't keep you away, can we?  And over here is Mr. Herbenstein.

 

(In the corner are three InSec officers in full uniform, poring over a map.)

 

HERBENSTEIN (Herbert Gergenstein, with thick German Accent):  Ach.  Ha!  Gut time, er, gut afternoon.

 

LANDLADY:  Oho, planning a little excursion, eh, Mr Herbenstein?

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Ja, ja, ve haff a little... (to Bax)  Was ist Abweise bewegen?

 

BAX (In-Seok Pax, also with German accent):  Hiking.

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Ah yes, ve make a little *hike* for Arnheim.

 

JOHNSON:  Ah yes.  Well, you'll want the Minos Jumpgate.  Oh, no, you've got the wrong map there.  This is Rios.  You want the Proxima and San Angeles section.

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Ah!  Rios!  Ha ha ha, In-Seo… Reginald, you have the wrong map here you silly old leg-before-vicket English person.

 

BAX:  I'm sorry mein Fuhrer, mein (cough) mein Dickie old chum.

 

LANDLADY:  Oh, lucky Mr. Johnson pointed that out.  You wouldn't have had much fun in Rios, would you?  Ha ha.  (stony silence)  I said, you wouldn't have had much fun in Rios, would you?

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Not much fun in Rios, no.

 

LANDLADY:  Oh I'm sorry.  I didn't introduce you.  This is Kashid.  Kashid Ring.

 

JOHNSON:  Oh, not Rashid King, eh?

 

RING (Rashid King, also, for no apparent reason, with German Accent):  Nein!  Nein!  Oh.  Ha ha.  Different other chap.  I in Hyperion am being born.  Rashid King is born Gotterdammerstrasse 46, New Dusseldorf, Avalon... so they say!

 

LANDLADY:  And this is the quiet one, Mr. Bax, Sin-Iouek Bax.

 

BAX:  How do you do there squire?  I also am not of Avalon being born but I in your Cornell, New Paris was given birth to.  But am staying in New Paris all time during war, due to jolly old running sores, and vos unable to go in the streets or to go visit football matches or go to Grand Council Chambers.  Ha ha.  Am retired vindow cleaner and pacifist, without doing war crimes.  Oh... and am glad Exeter vin Federation  Cup.  Rik Mayall, Reginald Williamson. And eating I am lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads and Dundee cakes on Piccadilly Line, don't you know old chap, vot!  And I vos deputy commandant of InSec for ten years.  (Herbenstein elbows him in the ribs)  Ah!  Five years!  (Herbenstein elbows him again, harder)  Nein!  No!  Oh.  Was NOT deputy head of InSec AT ALL!  I was not, I make joke!  (laughs)

 

LANDLADY:  Oh, Mr. Bax.  You do have us on!  (Telephone rings)  Oh excuse me.  I must just go and answer that.

 

JOHNSON:  How long are you down here for, Mr. Herbenstein, just the fortnight?

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Vot you ask that for, are you a rebel spy or something?  Get on against the wall, Federation Pig, you are going to die!

 

BAX:  Take it easy, Dickie old chum!

 

RING:   I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson, he's a bit on edge.  He hasn't slept since 2241.

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Shut your cake-hole, you K'Nes!

 

RING:  Cool it, Fuhrer cat!

 

BAX:  Ha ha, the fun we have!

 

JOHNSON:  Haven't I seen him on the television?

 

HERBENSTEIN, RING, BAX: (hastily)  Nicht.  Nein.  No.

 

JOHNSON:  Meet the Press, ISN Network Chat?

 

HERBENSTEIN, RING, BAX:  Nein.  No.

 

LANDLADY:  Telephone, Mr. Herbenstein.  It's Mr. Andrew Tresca from the Bell and Compasses.  He says he's found a place where you can hire power armor by the hour...?

 

HERBENSTEIN:  If he opens his big mouth again, it's Lampshade time!

 

BAX:  Shut up!  Ha ha, hire power armor!  He's a joker, that Italian person.

 

RING:  Good old Trashy!

 

LANDLADY (to Johnson):  He's on the phone the whole time nowadays.

 

JOHNSON:  In business, is he?

 

BAX:  Soon, baby!

 

LANDLADY:  Of course it's his big day Thursday.  They've been planning it for months.

 

JOHNSON:  What's happening then?

 

LANDLADY:  Well it's the New Paris by-election.  Mr. Herbenstein is standing as the Binternal Security Candidate.  He's got wonderful plans for New Paris!

 

JOHNSON:  Like what?

 

LANDLADY:  Well, for a start, he wants to annex Epsilon.

 

JOHNSON:  Oh, New Paris is Conservative, isn't it?

 

LANDLADY:  Well, yes, he gets a lot of people at his rallies.

 

JOHNSON:  Rallies?

 

LANDLADY:  Well, they're Binternal Security meetings down at the George's Bar & Spill on Parkinson Square.

 

(Short scene cut: huge crowds outside going "Sieg Heil!  Sieg Heil!  Sieg Heil!")

 

HERBENSTEIN:  I am not a racialist, but... and dis is a big but... the Binternal Security party says that das (stream of German).

 

BAX:  Mr. Gergenstein (Herbenstein slaps him)... Herbenstein says historically Hrothgar is a part of New Paris already!

 

HERBENSTEIN:  Und der Nieuw Paris ist nicht die letze (stream of German)... in die Welt!

 

CROWD:  Sieg Heil!

 

(Cut to interviews on the street)

 

SPYDER:  I don't like the sound of these 'ere Boncentration Bamps.

 

TESS REICHENSPURGER:  Well, I gave him my baby to kiss, and he bit it in the head!

 

ERICH VON SHRAKENBERG:  Well, I think he'd do a lot of good to the Stock Exchange.

 

KRISTEN VORHEIS:  No!  No!

 

BAX (in disguise): Oh yes Britisher pals, he is wunderbar-ful.

 

DAMIEN RICHTER (mechanically):  I think he's got beautiful legs.

 

O'REILLY (droning):  Well... speaking as an Engineer I just drone on and on and on and on without letting anyone else get a word in edgeways until I start foaming at the mouth and falling over backwards.  Ooo-aaahhh. (THUD)

 

(Cut  to 'Spectrum' host)

 

HOST (Russell Fargus):  Foam at the mouth and fall over backwards.  Is he foaming at the mouth to fall over backwards or falling over backwards to foam at the mouth?  Tonight's 'Spectrum' examines the whole question of frothing and falling, coughing and calling, screaming and bawling, walling and stalling, brawling and mauling, falling and hauling, trawling and squalling, and zalling.  Zalling.  It isn't even a word, zalling.  If it is, what does it mean?  If it isn't, what does it mean?  Perhaps both, maybe neither.  What do I mean by the word 'mean'?  What do I mean by the word 'word'?  What do I mean by 'what do I mean'?  What do I mean by 'do' and what do I do by 'mean'?  And what do I do by do by do and what do I mean by wasting your time like this?  Good night.

 

(Roll End Credits)