Only as a myth; a dark fable; a horror tale, told across the flickering embers of a midnight fire, wherever hardened space dogs gather to drink fermented vegetable products and compete in tales of blood-chilling terror!
But surely your life is replete with good works? There can be few individuals who have lived a more selfless life.
Kryten
But I am programmed to live unselfishly. And therefore, any good works I do come not out of fine motives, but as a result of a series of binary commands I am compelled to obey.
IKInquisitor Kryten
Well, then, how can any mechanical justify himself?
Kryten
Perhaps only if he attempted to break his programming and conduct his life according to a set of values he arrived at independently.
IKInquisitor Kryten
Your argument invites deletion.
Kryten
The rules are yours, not mine.
IKInquisitor Kryten
Do you wish to be erased?
Kryten
I am programmed not to wish for anything. I serve.
IKInquisitor Kryten
In a human, this type of behaviour could be considered "stubborn".
Kryten
But I am not human. And neither are you. And it is not our place to judge them. I wonder why you do.
Kryten (realising what's happening): Uh, who are you?
Inquisitor (through Lister): Tremble at my name, for I am the Inquisitor!
Kryten
The Inquisitor?!
Inquisitor (through Lister): Your vessel is under my control. It will return you to your mother ship, where you will face judgement. You will each present a case to justify your existence. If you fail, you will be deleted.
Okay. I say let's get into the jet-powered rocket pants and junior birdman the hell out of here!
Kryten
An excellent and inventive suggestion, sir, with just two tiny drawbacks: a) We don't have any jet-powered rocket pants; and b) there's no such thing as jet-powered rocket pants outside the fictional serial "Robbie Rocket Pants."
Well, there was the fact you were despised by your parents for failing to achieve their standards. The fact your three brothers were all such high-flyers in the Space Corps and you ended up servicing chicken soup machines. There's your inability to form long-term relationships with anyone, your cowardliness, your lack of charm, honour or grace and the awful knowledge that throughout your entire life nobody has ever truly liked you because you are so fundamentally unlikeable.
Well, let's forget the noise and the revolting burbling sound and get straight to the really gross part when you always, and I do mean ALWAYS, having blown your nose, you have to open up the handkerchief and take a look at the contents. I mean, why? What do expect to see in there? A Turner seascape perhaps? The face of the Madonna? An undiscovered Shakespearean sonnet?
Nothin's gonna happen. We're just here as a precaution. The whole ship's full of fail-safes anyway. Cooling systems, containment panels, vacuum shields. The actual chances of it blowin' are about one in -