SCENE 1.

POD:	Come in Command and Control… Come in Command and Control… This is Pod Number 46, currently en route to Pluto, calling on the secure channel for ultra-secret-emergency-calls only… Come in Command and Control… We have been boarded by Moon Gangsters… Come in Command and Control…
 
JOHN:	(D) Hello Pod, this is John. Happy Christmas. You do know this secure channel is reserved for ultra-secret-emergency-calls only?

POD:	(AGGRESSIVE) No flipping spuds, John! Does it sound like I’m ordering a pizza?

F/X: 	HARD CUT TO “ODE TO JOY” BY BEETHOVEN. 

FADE

SCENE 2.

F/X: 	THE LOW HUM AND BLEEPS THAT YOU WOULD EXPECT FROM THE INTERIOR OF A SPACE-GOING VESSEL. KNOCKING ON A METAL DOOR. 

HANS:	(GERMAN ACCENT) Please come out of the closet, Miss Belafonte. I am fully aware that you are in there.

JEMIMA:			(MUFFLED) I’m not!

HANS:	Miss Belafonte, you are. I am German and therefore culturally attuned to not engage in whimsy of this or any sort. Now please come out. My associates and I are on a very limited time frame and I would like to share a glass of festive gluwein and converse with you about a matter of utmost importance. 

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Who are you?

HANS:	My name is Handsome Booger. You may call me Hans. 

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Nice to meet you Hans. What the shock do you want? 

HANS:	We are searching for something that you have inadvertently taken from us. Now please step out of the closet and join me in a drink.

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) …don’t want to!

HANS:	Then please allow me to put it in another manner. Miss Belafonte, we have been trailing you for many years. We are very tired, very bored and very agitated. It is Christmas Eve and, instead of spending it with our loved ones, we are stuck in the depths of space talking to a door. Therefore, if you do not come out and join me, my associates and I shall shoot the closet in which you are hiding with bullets from guns until you are very dead and I am forced to enjoy the eggnog all by myself.

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Are you bluffing?

HANS:	Nein. I am Hans. And in my hands is a machine gun. 

F/X: 		GUN BEING COCKED. 

JEMIMA:	Well then, when you put it like that…

F/X: 		CLOSET DOOR OPENING. 

HANS:	Mr Wint, Mr Kidd, please restrain Miss Bellafonte. 

JEMIMA:	Hey where’s my gluwien?

HANS:	No gluwein for you Miss Belafonte. For you, Christmas is cancelled. Ho. Ho. Ho.

F/X: 		CHRISTMAS MUSIC. 

FADE

SCENE 3.

F/X: 		THE SOUND OF A RAUCOUS	CHRISTMAS PARTY. 

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Hello, 999. Which emergency service do you require?

JOHN:	(SHOUTING TO BE HEARD) Hello! Hello! Is that the 999?

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Hello, yes this is 999. Which emergency service do you require?

JOHN:	Happy Christmas.

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) And to you sir… Now which…

JOHN:	And, if I forget to say it later, a happy New Year to you too. Are you doing anything special? 

 SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Which emergency service do you require?

JOHN:	I’m sorry to bother you but this is John calling from the UK Space Agency… Command and Control division…

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Which emergency service do you require?

JOHN:	… it appears one of our engineering pods in Sector 46539871 is in a spot of bother with some Moon Gangsters…

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Moon gangsters? 
JOHN:	Yes Moon Gangsters... Snuck up on them apparently when the were busy playing a game of “Is Two, is Three, Donkey Balls”…

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Donkey what?

JOHN:	It’s a game. 

SWITCHBOARD:  	(D) A game called Donkey Balls? 

JOHN:	Yes… It’s festive… the rules are quite convoluted but it’s good fun when you get into it. Do you fancy a couple of rounds? 

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Which emergency service do you require?

JOHN:	Anyway, they’ve been hijacked so I was wondering if you might have a police pod that could go and… sort it out… maybe… a bit…?

SWITCHBOARD: 	(D) You want to know if the Police Force of the United Kingdom have a unit operating in the depths of space?

JOHN:	Yes. 

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) On Christmas Eve? 

JOHN:	Yes. Just out Sector 46539871 way. If it’s not too much trouble?

SWITCHBOARD: 	(D) Is this a wind up? 

JOHN:	No. Sorry.
BOSS:	(OFF) Come back to the party John, I’m going to photocopy myself!

F/X		ROAR OF DELIGHT FROM THE PARTY. 

F/X:		(D) TAPPING ON A COMPUTER.

SWITCHBOARD: 	(D) I don’t believe it. 

JOHN:	Oh you should… That’s my boss. He’s a right one when he gets going. 

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) No, Mr John. What I don’t believe is that we do have someone operating, right now, in the vicinity of Sector 46539871.

JOHN:	Well that’s lovely… because I think it’s getting a bit sticky up there. 

SWITCHBOARD:	(D) Lovely?! It’s a shocking Christmas miracle! 

FADE

SCENE 4. 

F/X: 	THE SOUND OF POD 46 BEING RANSACKED. 

HANS:	(CALLING) Have you found anything yet, Mr Wint?

WINT:	(BELOW DECKS) No sir.

HANS:	(CALLING) Well keep looking and remember, until I give the order I want complete radio silence.

WINT:	(BELOW DECKS) Yes sir.

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmm. 

HANS:	Mr Kidd, please remove the gag from Miss Belafonte… The noise she is making, the bulging of her eyes and the rapidly forming puddle of drool are all combining to make me feel quite nauseous. 

KIDD:	Yes sir. 

F/X: 					GAG BEING REMOVED. 

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmm.  (DEEP BREATH) And about time too! What the shock do you think you’re doing? This is Christmas Eve! A time of peace and good will to all men! And women! And me! You said we were going to have eggnog but you tied me up! That makes you a bad sharer. And a liar! A big fat liar! A big fat liar with pants on fire and… and… and it’s yuletide and this just isn’t festive behaviour! 

HANS:	I can see you are very passionate about this. 

JEMIMA:	I am. 

HANS:	Well done. However, your desire to only have criminal activity conducted upon you in a festive manner will not prevent us from ransacking your pod until we find what we are after. 

JEMIMA:	After? What kind of terrorists are you? 

HANS:	Who said we were terrorists? 

JEMIMA:	You did?

HANS:	I assure you I did not. We are Moon Gangsters.

JEMIMA:	Oh right. I must be thinking of a movie. Or a song. Do you know any songs about terrorists at Christmas? I’m sure there’s one… Is it (HUMS ‘LONELY THIS CHRISTMAS’)? No wait, that’s Mudd. 

HANS:	Miss Belafonte, as interesting as it is to take a one-way trip into the workings of your devastated psyche, I am afraid that I must move things along. Now, if you would be so good as to give me the code to enter your on-board Pod compuder? 

JEMIMA: 	Well I can’t help you there Hans as I don’t have one.

HANS:	You don’t have one. 

JEMIMA:	Nope. 

HANS:	You are expecting me to believe that you, a standard engineer in the UK Space Agency who – before this mission – never did anything more difficult than clean space funk from pornographic satellites, are capable of piloting an award-winning class 7 low-to-medium orbit, but not rated for pan-solar system travel, space fairing vessel?

JEMIMA:	Yup.

HANS:	Despite the millions of calculations it takes every hour simply to keep the radiator running?

JEMIMA:	Pretty impressive huh?

F/X: 		A CLANG BELOW DECKS. 

WINT:	(BELOW DECKS) Arghh!

POD: 	Ho ho ho. Now I have a machine gun. 

HANS:	To whom am I conversing over a channel reserved for radio silence? 

POD:	Ooooh, I'm very sorry Hans. I didn't get that message. Maybe you should've put it on the bulletin board. I figured since I've waxed Mr Wint here, you and Mr Kidd might be a little lonely, so I wanted to check you’re not sad. 

HANS:	That's very kind of you. You really are most troublesome, for a… co-pilot? 
POD:	Eeeh! Sorry Hans, wrong guess. Would you like to go for Double Donkey Balls where the scores can really change? 

HANS:			Who are you then? 

POD: 	Just a fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the middle of your back you just can’t scratch.

HANS:	So, Mr Mystery Guest… You have me at a loss. You know my name but who are you? Just another one that saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he's Hulk Hogan? Bucky O’Hare? The white Power Ranger?  

POD:	I was always kind of partial to Bravestarr actually. I really like the pony tail. 

HANS:	Do you really think you have a chance against us, Mr. Cowboy? 

POD:				Yippee-ki-yay, mother hubbard.

HANS:			He is talking gibberish. 

JEMIMA:			He does that. 

POD:				Welcome to the party, pal!

HANS:	Listen Mr Cowboy. This is very simple… Somewhere on this vessel is an item that I require. If you give it to me then you can continue on your way. If you do not, then my associates will take this vessel and everything on it apart piece by piece, starting with Miss Belafonte here. 

POD:				You can’t have my chicken! 

JEMIMA:			I don’t think he’s after your chicken, Pod.

HANS:			Mr… Pod?

JEMIMA:			Did I say Pod? I meant… (THINKS) “Hans”?

HANS:	You are aware that Hans is my name? 

JEMIMA:	“Jones.” I meant “Jones.” 

HANS:	Miss Belafonte, shhh now… Mr Cowboy, returning to you… Am I, or am I not, right in thinking that I am actually conversing with the Pod computer of this vessel?

JEMIMA:	Don’t tell him, Pod. 

HANS:	Thank you, Miss Belafonte. 

POD:	Alright Hans, you sussed me out. But don’t go forgetting, you’re not just dealing with a Pod computer. You’re dealing with an award-winning class 7 low-to-medium orbit, but not rated for pan-solar system travel, space fairing Pod computer. With a machine gun. 

HANS:	And given your lack of fingers, how exactly are you planning to use this machine gun?

POD:	You got me there, Hans.  

HANS:	Then I’m not going to worry about that. Although I am a trifle confused about how you managed to dispatch my colleague, Mr Wint? 

POD:	He slipped on some oil, Hans. 

HANS:	Thank you. You may now return to radio silence, Mr Pod. I have to discuss some very important matters with Miss Belafonte. 

POD:				Fine! Go ahead! Do your worst! 

JEMIMA:			I don’t want him to do his worst, Pod.

POD:	And I don’t want him to have my Christmas chicken. It’s seasoned with 11 secret herbs and spices you know? It’s not the cheap stuff they baste with asbestos. 

HANS:	Mr Pod, I assure you, I am not here for your chicken. I am here for the skull. 

POD:	What? Is that all? Why didn’t you say? You can take Jemima’s. It’s a bit small and damaged…

JEMIMA:			Oi!

POD:				…But you’re welcome to it. 

HANS:	I can also assure you I do not want the skull of Miss Bellafonte…

POD:				Or my Christmas chicken?

HANS:	Or – for the final time – your Christmas chicken. The skull I seek is one that was removed from the vicinity of the Garbage Belt some two years ago. 

JEMIMA:			Oh that? That’s in the hold. 

HANS:	Then please give me the code to the hold. 

JEMIMA:	I can’t. 

HANS:	Miss Belafonte, I’m going to count to three. There will not be a four. Give me the code. One… Two… 

F/X:		SOUND OF A GUN COCKING. 

JEMIMA:	No wait! I can’t give you the code because ‘The Hold’ is just the name we give to the closet. 

HANS:	Ah. I see. Thank you Miss Bel… 

F/X:		(D) A SIREN OVER THE RADIO.

KIDD:				Oh heck, it’s the Rozzers!

HANS:	Ah excellent. A little earlier than expected but no harm done… Miss Belafonte, Mr Pod, I will only give you this instruction once. A member of her Majesty’s Constabulary is about to board this vessel. Do not inform him that we are here or I shall be forced to decorate the inside of this pod red. 

POD:	I like red. 

HANS:	With blood. 

POD:	How festive. 

JEMIMA:	Pod!

HANS:	Now, if you will excuse me…

JEMIMA:			Why? Where are you going?

HANS:			To hide in the closet with Mr Kidd. 

JEMIMA:			Any reason?

HANS:			Yes. 

F/X:	TWO MEN GETTING INTO ONE SMALL CLOSET.

F/X: 					COMMUNICATOR SWITCHES ON.

DICKSON: 	(D) ‘Ello ‘ello ‘ello, this is PC Juliet Dickson of the UK Space Police Force… You have a defective rear beacon and as such must pull over at the nearest opportunity.

JEMIMA: 			We’ve got a break light out?

POD:	Yup. I was going to mention it but then it was Christmas… and then we got playing “Is Two, is Three, Donkey Balls”… and then we got hijacked by Moon Gangsters and, well, one thing led to another and then now we’ve been caught by the fuzz. Defective rear beacon. It’s a big fine that.  

JEMIMA: 			A fine!? Not to me though, surely?

POD: 	Well I’m not going to pay it. I haven’t brought my wallet.

JEMIMA: 	Damn it Pod, how could you let this happen? How long until we can pull over?

POD: 	I can pull over now but come on! It’s Christmas! Let’s do something exciting! Let’s make a run for it! Like Bonny and Clyde, Thelma and Louise or Morecambe and Wise.

F/X:		CLOSET OPENING. 

HANS:	Do excuse me for interrupting your highbrow tête-à-tête but would you mind not making a run for it? 

JEMIMA:	Thank you Hans. I think the best chance we have here of avoiding a fine is that we pull over now and I use my feminine wiles.

POD:	I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’m not sure you’ve got any. 

JEMIMA:	Have to!

POD:	Have not!

JEMIMA:	Have three!

POD:	Donkey balls!

JEMIMA: 	Seventeen love. You’re on fire, Pod. 

POD:	Oh yeeeah boi!

HANS:	What are you doing? 

JEMIMA:	Playing “Is Two, is Three, Donkey Balls”…We invented it last Christmas. It’s festive… the rules are quite convoluted but it’s good fun when you get into it. Do you fancy a couple of rounds? 

HANS: 	Miss Belafonte, I believe it may be best if I explain myself a little bit here. A malfunctioning rear beacon, a possible fine and the rules of a foolish game…

JEMIMA:	Hey!

HANS:	… A FOOLISH GAME, are the least of your worries. I am a Moon Gangster and I am here to steal back a skull. When I have done this I am rather banking on a police officer docking with this pod so that I can steal their vessel. So please do not make a run for it. Please do not use any feminine wiles. Please do not play your inane game. And, for the love of all that is sweet and German, please shut up. 

POD:	Oh nice one Jemima, now you’ve upset Hans. 

JEMIMA:	I’ve upset Hans? You’re the one who didn’t fix the brake light!

POD:	Oh back to the brake light is it?! Right then, that’s the last time I try and save you. 

HANS: 			Pod to mute.

POD:				Heeeey (MUTES)

JEMIMA:			Mr Kidd, please gag Miss Bellafonte. 

MR KIDD:			Yes sir. 

JEMIMA:	Heeeey… (MUFFLED) Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmm. 

HANS:	Now, I’m getting back into the closet. 

F/X:	CLOSET CLOSING.

SCENE 5. 

F/X: 					AIR LOCK DOOR OPENING. 

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmm. 

DICKSON:	What have we got here then? Did you know it’s actually illegal to be gagged, bound to a chair and piloting an award-winning class 7 low-to-medium orbit, but not rated for pan-solar system travel, space fairing vessel? That’s a fine of £120.

JEMIMA:	(MUFFLED) Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmm. 

DICKSON: 			Sorry, can’t understand you. I’ll just remove this…

JEMIMA: 			(DEEP BREATH) Pod on! 

POD:				(FADE UP) £120! That’s criminal!

JEMIMA:			And talking of criminals….

DICKSON: 	Now, I also notice that you’ve been drinking gluwein. Normally being intoxicated in charge of an interstellar vessel carries a fine of £750 but we’re having a real clamp down on it, what with it being Christmas and all. So that’ll be double. 

POD:				£1500! I won’t pay! 

JEMIMA:	Pod! That’s not important right now! Officer, I really need you to…

DICKSON:	Which brings us to the matter in hand; you are aware that it’s very dangerous to be out at this time of night with no rear brake light? 

JEMIMA: 	Night? What?! This is space! 

DICKSON: 	So?

JEMIMA:			So it’s always night.

DICKSON:	So it’s always dangerous. That’s a fine of £170. 

POD:				Daylight robbery! 

JEMIMA:			Talking of robberies… 

POD:				What if I fix it now? 

DICKSON: 	Well I suppose that’d be ok. I can give you hand if you want?

JEMIMA: 	What? Isn’t that a bit unusual?

DICKSON:	Yeah I know… but it’s a pretty quiet night and you’re the first person I’ve stopped in... Let me see... Well, eight years. 

JEMIMA: 	Eight years?!

DICKSON:	Yeah, eight years. Next Tuesday. Eight years. 

JEMIMA:			Wow. What’s that been like? 

DICKSON:	On balance, I’d say the worst part of it has been the first eight years. The trick is to keep yourself interested. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen. For example, yesterday it was a nice cup of black coffee. Today it’s pulling you over. 

JEMIMA:	That’s a present?

DICKSON:	Yeah. I’ve actually been tailing you for a couple of weeks but I got to thinking: “Juliet, you haven’t spoken to anyone for eight years… why not save this one for Christmas?” 

POD:	Eight years though? Why didn’t you speak to your Pod? We’re great fun! 

DICKSON:	We haven’t spoken for 36 months. Not since a game of “Is Two, Is Three, Donkey Balls” got horribly out of hand.

JEMIMA:			Pod! You told me you invented that game?

POD:				I didn’t.

JEMIMA:			Did to!

POD:	Did not!

JEMIMA:	Did three!

POD:	Donkey balls!

JEMIMA:			Damn! Too fast for me. Another point to you, Pod.

POD:				Hurrah! I like points.

F/X:					CLOSET OPENS. 

HANS:	I am sorry to interrupt, but I simply cannot bear this anymore. 

DICKSON:			What! Who are you? 

POD:				Yippee kay-aye, he was in the cupboard.

JEMIMA:	Sorry officer, I forgot about the gangster in the closet.

POD:	I hadn’t. I was waiting to see when he’d surprise us. Nice one Hans.

HANS:	Officer Dickson, my name is Handsome Booger. You may call me Hans.

DICKSON:	Is that supposed to mean something to me?

HANS:	It means that I am going to tie you up and steal your Police Pod. Mr Kidd, if you’d be so kind. 

KIDD:	Yes sir. 

F/X:	DICKSON BEING STRAPPED TO A CHAIR. 

DICKSON:	HeyI I can’t move!

HANS:	Which is entirely the point, officer. I do hope you don’t mind? It’s just that I wish to make a fast get away with this… 
DICKSON:			What is that?

HANS:	Are you, an officer of the law, seriously asking me what this is?

DICKSON:			Well, it looks like a skull. 

HANS:	Congratulations. I see the many hours at the academy were not wasted. Ha. German irony. Yes, this is indeed a skull. But not just any skull. This is the skull of my ex-associate Edward “Diamond Eddy” Jackson, leader of the Hatton Garden Heist. 

DICKSON:	When the world’s most valuable diamond got nicked? But that was twenty years ago and no one ever found that. 

HANS:	Until now, officer. But if you’d be so good as to look inside. 

F/X:	A CRACK OF JAWBONE. A SHIMMERING SOUND.

POD:				It’s a crystal! The skull’s got a crystal in it!

DICKSON:			It’s beautiful…

JEMIMA:			It’s spectacular…

DICKSON:			It’s massive… 

JEMIMA:			It’s mahusive…

DICSKON:			It’s…

POD and JEMIMA:		It’s Double Donkey Balls! (PAUSE) Jinx! 

HANS:	What are you doing now? (PAUSE) Hello… (PAUSE) Hello? Why are you now not speaking? 

DICKSON:	It looks to me like they’ve hit a Double Donkey Balls. And then, because they both spoke the same words at the same time, they’ve jinxed each other. 

HANS:			Which means? 

DICKSON:	Which means they can’t speak until someone says their name. 

HANS:	Amazing. It appears that Christmas miracles do happen. Now, while you are silent I will say my farewells. Mr Pod, Miss Belafonte…

POD:				Back in the game…

JEMIMA:			Oh yeah!

HANS:	Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Curse my German inability to talk to an individual without using their name. No matter. My associate Mr Kidd, my invaluable skull diamond and I will now be leaving in the Police Pod. Please do not try and follow us or I shall be forced to use its missile launcher to blow you into a thousand pieces. 

POD:	That’s a one-way ticket to the Naughty List, Hans. 

HANS:	It is also a lie, Mr Pod. As I am going to blow you into a million pieces whatever happens. 

JEMIMA:	What? You can’t do that!

HANS:	I assure you I can.

POD: 	So that's all this was about Hans? A robbery? 

JEMIMA:	After all your posturing, all your little speeches, you're nothing but a common thief. 

HANS:	No, I am an exceptional thief, Miss Belafonte. 

POD:	But why've you got to nuke the whole Pod, Hans? 

HANS:	Well, when you steal £600 dollars, you can just disappear. When you steal £600 million, they will find you… unless they think you're already dead. Which, of course, I will not be. But you will. And while they are searching through the wreckage I will be masquerading as a police officer and en route home. So, if you’ll excuse me… I must be off. 

F/X:		AIRLOCK DOOR OPENING.

HANS:	(CONT’D) A merry Christmas to all and to all, a good night. 

POD:	You forgot to say: “God bless us, every one”, Hans.

F/X:	AIR RUSHING FROM THE POD.  

HANS:	What?! What is happening!? Arghhh! (FADES) 

MR KIDD:	Arghhh! (FADES)

POD:	Yippee-ki-yay Mr Falcon!

F/X:	AIRLOCK DOOR CLOSING. 

JEMIMA:	What happened there, Pod? 

POD:	I sucked them out into space, effortlessly saving the day while you two lounge around not helping.

JEMIMA:	But how? 

POD:	Well, I uncoupled us from the Police Pod about 10 minutes ago… as previously agreed with Officer Dickson here. 

DICKSON:	You know, it often surprises me how many of these top class criminals forget that even the most rudimentary Pod computers can carry out hundreds of different functions at once. Hans there thought he’d covered every angle, but what he’d never covered was the fact that your derelict, decrepit Pod here was always one move ahead; playing him like a true Donkey Balls champion! 

POD:	Bravo Juliet! I’d high five you but well, you know… no hands. 

DICKSON:	Understood. I can’t help but feel a bit bad though. 

JEMIMA:	How come? 

DICKSON:	I killed Mr Kidd. 

POD:	And at Christmas too. 

JEMIMA:	Christmas three.

POD:	Not now Jemima. Please, two men are dead. Show some respect. 

JEMIMA:	Sorry (PAUSE) So, did you two master strategists also work out some way of getting us untied from these chairs? 

DICKSON:	Erm well…

POD:	Fa la la laaa! Fa la la, no. 

F/X:		JINGLE OF BELLS.

END