SCENE 1

F/X: 	THE SOUND OF POD 46 CRASHING SPECTACULARLY ONTO PLUTO, BEFORE COMING TO REST ON THE EDGE OF A ROCKY CRATER. FIRE, FIZZING AND SPARKS. PIECES OF CHEWED UP METAL DROP FROM THE HULL. 

POD:	(TANNOY) and now I should be jacked into the external emergency tannoy. Which I am. Oooh loud aren’t I? Good. Now hurry up and get out here, Jemima. Work to be done. 

F/X:	A HATCH IS OPENED. JEMIMA BLASTS A FIRE EXTINGUISHER AT THE FLAMES.

JEMIMA:			So much fire! Stop being on fire, Pod. 

POD:	Sorry boss, it’s my natural state. Plus, with Pluto’s oxygen-rich atmosphere, it’s hard to be anything but on fire after that sort of crash-landing. Oooh, there’s some more, on your left. 

F/X:	WHOOMPF OF FLAME. BLAST OF EXTINGUISHER. 

JEMIMA:	Got it. Right… now, hang on… Pluto’s oxygen-rich what?

F/X:	A BRASS BAND STRIKES UP A CELBRATORY TUNE. CHEERING.

POD:				Sorry Jemima. I tried to tell you…
JEMIMA:			What…

POD:				Really I did… 

JEMIMA:			The…

POD:	But it never felt like the right time. Except that one time when it did feel like the right time but I couldn’t be bothered. 

F/X:	BBC NEWS BULLETIN BLAST. CLAMBERING SOUND OF REPORTER CLIMBING ONTO POD 46.

REPORTER:	And you’re joining us now, live on the BBC, where I’m currently clambering over the chewed up remains of what appears to be a UK Space Agency ice cream van.

POD:	WHAT?! I’m an engineering pod, not an ice cream van!

F/X:	GREENSLEEVES ICE CREAM JINGLE VIA TANNOY. 

POD:	That’s just a coincidence. 

REPORTER:	Join us for a full report shortly… and back to the studio. Hello?! Hello there! Are you the pilot of this… mess?

JEMIMA:	Who the shock are you? 

REPORTER:	Relax darling, I’m with the BBC.
JEMIMA:	God save the Queen.  

REPORTER:	Now, let’s whip that breather off you so the public can finally meet the answer to a future pub quiz tiebreaker!  

JEMIMA: 	The what now?

REPORTER:	And we’re live again in five, four, three… 

F/X:	HISS OF BREATHING APPARATUS REMOVAL.

JEMIMA:	You’re right, I can breath. The air tastes… chewy. 

REPORTER:	Two, one… Good afternoon, this is Linda Lovelace broadcasting live from the outskirts of New Leatherhead…

POD:	Ooooh now there’s a tongue twister… Linda Lovelace live from…

REPORTER:	...where – as I’m sure you can see from the band, the bunting and all the crowds – the locals have turned out in force to welcome a very special guest indeed!

POD:	Hello my adoring public! Why are you here?

F/X:		CROWD CHEERS.

REPORTER:			So, darling, please… tell us your name. 

JEMIMA:	Jemima Margaret Belafonte… from the UK Space Agency.  

POD:	And I’m Pod! Are we really live on TV now? Hi Mummy! 

REPORTER:	So, Jimmy, how does it feel to be the very, very, very last person from Great Britain to arrive here on Pluto?!

CROWD:	(SINGS) Somewhere between 
The stars and village green 
There’s a whole world waiting for us…
Somewhere beyond
The words of this song
There’s a new world waiting for us…

JEMIMA:			The last who? What’s with all the singing?

REPORTER:	It’s a celebration darling! We’re all here to celebrate the arrival of the last person to be repatriated from the British Isles to their new home on Pluto! How does it feel to be famous?

JEMIMA:			Famous? Famous?! Well…

POD:	Just so you know, Pod is spelt P.O.D… there’s no ‘T’ in it. That’s a common mistake. 

JEMIMA:	Hang on… everyone’s here? Everyone?! As in everyone everyone??!

REPORTER:	Yes, we are now – thanks to your arrival. It’s a glorious day and you’re the guest of honour. No one’s ever going to forget your name, Jammy!

JEMIMA:			Jemima. 

REPORTER:			Give the crowd a wave, Jumper!

F/X:					CROWD CHEERS.

POD:	I’m waving too! Just with my eyes.

REPORTER:	So, please… tell the folks at home… What took you so long to get here?

JEMIMA:	What? It took the exact amount of time it was supposed to take to get here.

POD:	It’s true, we were largely automated. 
 
REPORTER:	And you came all this way in… that?
 
JEMIMA:	Yeah. Though the holes are a newer feature.  
 
POD:	Remember, the camera adds ten pounds, Jemima. My gaping holes just make me look slimmer and more attractive. 
 
REPORTER:	Hilarious! And what’s the first thing you’re going to do now? Will you head to New Whitehall to sign the repatriation paperwork? Or straight to New Pinewood Studios to sign the incredibly lucrative book and movie rights that will make you an instantaneous millionaire?
 
JEMIMA:			Lucrative a what now? 
 
F/X:					CROWD CHEERS.
 
REPORTER:	The crowd love you, Jonny. Look at that guy. He’s even got a tattoo of you, which is impressive given he didn’t know what you’d look like…
 
POD:	He really should put his trousers back on now. 

JEMIMA:	(Excited) Ohh, am I going to get to meet the queen? 
 
REPORTER:	Ha! No. You know she doesn’t make public appearances anymore for some reason. But maybe  the PM will give you a pat on the head and a certificate. Now, over to the studio for instantaneous reaction from a group of people you wouldn’t trust to peel a banana… (BEAT) (DISTRACTED) Sorry… what’s that? There’s another one?! Urgh. Sorry everyone, false alarm. There’s a late arrival just touching down at New Heathrow…Pack up the band… Take down the bunting… We’re going live again in twenty.

F/X:	SOUND OF DISGRUNTLED CROWD AND BAND MOVING ON. 

JEMIMA:	Hang on! Are you sure you don’t want me to sign anything?

REPORTER:	Sorry Jomperella. No one’s interested in the second to last…
JEMIMA:	Oh. Ok then…See you later… It was… it was nice to meet you all… Feel free to stop by again if you’re in the... oh shock it! Pod!

F/X:	SOUND OF JEMIMA CLAMBERING BACK INTO POD. CIRCUIT BOARDS  FIZZING.

POD:	Well Jemima, I guess that was your 15 minutes of fame… and you made it last a whole 3 minutes and 37 seconds.  

JEMIMA:	What’s going on here, Pod? What haven’t you been telling me?

POD:	I think I’ll let Cloaca explain this one.

F/X:		CLOACA TWEETS CROSSLY.

POD (CONT’D):	Oh ok… ok… Good point. Well, seeing as we’re here now and you’ll probably work it all out naturally, I might as well tell you. I wouldn’t want anyone else to spoil the surprise. 

JEMIMA:	Surprise?

POD:	It’s a long story. Look, why don’t you pump me into your brain box using the cerebral cortex jack USB and I can explain on the way into town…

SCENE 3

F/X:	TRUDGE ACROSS BARREN LANDSCAPE. COLD WIND BLOWING.

JEMIMA:	So, this is really Pluto?

POD:	Oh yes… the barren grey rock, the pale heatless light from a distant sun… This is Pluto alright. Admittedly you were probably expecting a bit less enormous biosphere, and definitely a lot less of the entire population of the British Isles, but this is definitely Pluto. The ninth planet. Once removed. 

POD:	So, what do you think?  

JEMIMA:	I don’t know. It’s just so… so bleak and grim. The shanty towns. The human degradation. What do they call this place?

POD:				Birmingham.

JEMIMA:			New Birmingham?

POD:	No. 

PEOPLE:	(SINGING, OFF) Somewhere between 
The stars and village green 
There’s a whole world waiting for us…
Somewhere beyond
The words of this song
There’s a new world waiting for us…

JEMIMA:	And why are they all singing so happily?

POD:	Would you like the long story or shall I PowerPoint this straight up your cerebrum?

JEMIMA:	You can do that? Nice. I must say I’m really liking this new version of Microsoft Orifice. 

F/X:					MUZAK.

POD:	Delicious! Ok… it goes a bit like this… In 2118 there was a general election.

JEMIMA:	Oh yeah. I remember that. You blackmailed me into illegally voting for your favoured candidate. 

POD:	Blackmail is such an ugly word, Jemima. I prefer “forced you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

JEMIMA:	That’s much better.

POD:	Anyway, we got the Prime Minister we wanted. Hairy Jenny won because of your one vote.

JEMIMA:	And they say that your vote doesn’t really make a difference…

POD:	It was her third term of office and she wanted to do something really big… Something that would stand out in the history books and finally cement her reputation as the Aluminium Lady. So she decided to call a referendum. 

JEMIMA:	A referendum on what?

POD:	Independence. 

JEMIMA:	Independence? From who?

POD:	The rest of the world. 

JEMIMA:	Hang on… But isn’t the UK a 22nd Century post-capitalist democracy? Surely, due to an outward looking, internationalist economy (plus a multitude of historical business and political decisions that stemmed thereof), it finds itself able to punch above its weight in all manner of international affairs… despite being, to all intents and purposes, knackered?

POD:	Yes, but most people didn’t hear that message. They just read something hastily painted in white paint on the side of a blimp.

JEMIMA:	What did it say?

POD:	 “Oh go on”. 

JEMIMA:	Compelling…

POD:	Yes… so the independence campaign was going really well for Hairy Jenny. It looked like she was going to win and the UK was going to take back control of its sewage works, sausage roll emporiums and oat milk production… But she hadn’t accounted for one thing. 

JEMIMA:	Which was?

POD:	The rest of the world. Little did our PM know that while everyone in Britain was busy having a row about how much money is brought into the economy from offshore eel fishing, those sneaky rest-of-worlders were rather undercutting proceedings by having their own referendum. 

JEMIMA:			On?

POD:	On whether to keep the UK as part of the planet Earth. And their ‘Kick Them To The Curb’ campaign won by quite the landslide. So everyone had to leave.

JEMIMA:			Leave?

POD:	Yes. Leave and come here. To Pluto. The only remaining UK off-planet territory. Our new home away from home. 

JEMIMA:			But it’s a barren, cold, soulless rock. 

POD:				I know. Most people saw it as a real step up.

JEMIMA:	But you can’t kick a country off the earth!

POD:	Oh can’t you? I’d say, from the evidence here in front of your eyes, it rather seems that they could, and they did. 

JEMIMA:	But what happened to the UK?

POD:	It’s a time-share. I think it’s currently Belgium’s turn, although there was some controversy recently with how Spain had left the bathroom. 
 
JEMIMA:	This makes no sense. How did everyone get here? 
 
POD:				Pretty damn fast. 
 
JEMIMA:	But nothing can travel that far that quickly. You’re a state of the art, class 7, low-to-medium orbit maintenance pod… but it still took you the best part of three years!
 
POD:	Ah yes, but that was before your sister built that awesome new space super highway. You know, that one with all the adverts? It’s been built by the Earth Better Business Federation to help trade across the solar system. Apparently the rich aren’t rich enough yet, so everybody has to knuckle down and work a bit harder to help them. 
 
JEMIMA:	So that’s what Harriet was up to? Why didn’t I know anything this?
 
POD:	We’ll I guess if your only source of news is cat gifs on Spacebook…

JEMIMA:	I can’t believe something like this even possible…

POD:	Look above you Jemima. Behold the space super highway, stretching into the infinite. It’s the greatest human engineering accomplishment since Isambard Kingdom Brunel built the world’s largest jelly mould.  Did you not see all those adverts? Here, let me play you one of them…

ADVERT INSERT:	THE MILKLY WAY HIGHWAY ADVERT

POD:	Every planet and moon in the solar system has been connected together using faster than light hyperspace technology! A giant massive concrete ring-road now encircles every celestial body in our solar system, and they in turn are connected by quantum-entangled metal motorways stretching billions of miles! Isn’t it marvellous! 

JEMIMA:	So we can now travel between any two points in the system in a matter of weeks?

POD:	Yep.

JEMIMA: 	And every planet is physically connected together by a galactic subspace highway? 

POD:	Yep.

JEMIMA:	Isn’t that a little bit dangerous?

POD:   	Oh yes… unbelievably so. It's like a house of cards built on a rickety table, in the middle of quicksand. All the planets are now far more intrinsically linked than anything old fashioned like gravity ever managed. Now, we’re all in it together. What happens to one, happens to all.

JEMIMA:	So I could have just stayed on earth, waited for this thing to be built, and then popped to Pluto in a fortnight whilst catching up on a few podcasts? The journey we’ve been on to turn off a light bulb… This journey that began over three years ago… It’s all been... Totally. Utterly. Completely. Pointless? 

POD:	Physically, yes. But what about the spiritual journey we’ve both been on?

JEMIMA:	Pod, I know you’re currently stuck in my head. So I just hope you can feel this.

F/X:	JEMIMA HITS HERSELF IN THE HEAD. FALLS TO THE GROUND. THEN GETS UP

JEMIMA & POD:	Owww! That hurt.
		
JEMIMA:	(Woozy) But moving the entire population of a country… Surely that’s impossible? How many people are there in the UK? Thirty, forty thousand?

POD				Close. 120 million. 

JEMIMA:	See. That’s lots. There’s no way you could move that many people. 

POD:	But they did because, whatever happens, the UK will always prosper. We’re the country of Raleigh! Drake! Dunkirk and Del Boy! We can face any adversity and we’ll always come through as long as the population remain blindly patriotic.

JEMIMA:	And if they don’t?  
POD:	Then they get forced onto massive freighters with a mixture of grand promises of a better life – plus some violent threats – to get the job done. 

JEMIMA:			Not everyone can be happy about this, surely?

POD:	Well no. But that’s where the Saranex 5 played its part 

JEMIMA: 			Saranex 5? What’s that?  

POD:	It’s what you’re currently breathing at 90 parts per million and why everyone here seems so happy, despite where they are. 

JEMIMA: 			You mean they’re drugging us?

POD:	Oh yes. It’s like the corner of Haight-Ashbury out here, all thanks to Saranex 5. It’s like airborne lithium that’s stopping everyone realising that, both objectively and subjectively, Pluto is a bit of a shithole and an awful place to live.

JEMIMA:	But no government can drug their entire population, surely?

POD:				Oh it can. What do you think the BBC is for?

JEMIMA:			To live and let die? 

POD:	Close. It’s to inform, educate and entertain… but with a side objective of bombarding mulching subliminal messages into your noggin to keep you on track. 

JEMIMA:			Like what?

POD:				Think of the BBC.

JEMIMA:			Ok. 

POD:				And?

JEMIMA:			God save the Queen. 

POD:				There we go. Have you seen the Queen lately?

JEMIMA:			I’ve been stuck inside you for three years.

POD:				But before that?

JEMIMA:	Well no. I mean… she’s about 90 years old, isn’t she?

POD:	195. Give or take 195 or so. Two birthdays. Easy to get confused.

JEMIMA:	That can’t be right. Surely, if she was that old it would defy nature? It would mean there’s something fundamentally rotten at the very core of society… It would mean…

POD:				Calm Jemima. Calm… Think of the BBC.

JEMIMA:			God save the Queen. 

POD:				And take a deep breath of Saranex 5.

JEMIMA:			(DEEP BREATH) (CONTENDED) Ahhhh.

POD:	There there… That’ll knock the edge off a bit. Feeling better?  

JEMIMA:	Mmmm… so where did you get all this information from Pod?

POD:	Oh it’s amazing what you can pick up on the Black Matrix. Me and the other Pods are always meeting up there to share interesting titbits of information and swap pictures of cats. For example, the side effects of Saranex 5…

JEMIMA:			Side effects?

POD:	Oh yes… There’s lots of fun side effects. Headaches… Itching… an impulsive desire to burst into song.

JEMIMA:	I do actually feel like I want to sing… 
(SINGS) Somewhere between 
The stars and village green… 

POD:	Please, if you’d be so kind, just stick to the headaches and itching.

JEMIMA:			Ok. But is everyone really here? Like, really?

POD:				Oh yes. 

JEMIMA:			So John’s here?

POD:				Yep.

JEMIMA:			And Graham?

POD:				Yep.

JEMIMA:			Pete Thomas?

POD:	Oh yes. They turned him around shortly after he reached Mars. 

JEMIMA:			Shabba ding! Mum?

POD:	She’s here. In fact, she was one of the first to arrive after that nasty police shootout business she got caught up in. However, I do believe she’s now going under the assumed name of Jeremy Beadle.

JEMIMA:	Oh no… I just realised. That means Harriet’s here, doesn’t it? 

POD:	Here? Who do you think helped built the biosphere and associated infrastructure? If you ask me, she’s the reason why the place is such an absolute dump. She cuts corners with a chainsaw.

JEMIMA:			She’s so evil.

POD:	Probably not anymore. I’m sure she’s dosed up to the eyeballs too. Ooh what’s that landing over there?

F/X: 	A SIREN. A SMALL SHIP LANDING. DOOR HATCH OPENS. 

JOHN:	My name’s John and I’m here to rescue you. Oooh I see you don’t need much rescuing! 

JEMIMA:	John! Wow. I never thought I’d actually be glad to see you!

JOHN:	No hugging please. I’m a bit funny about touching. It’s why I like working on the phones.

JEMIMA:	Maybe “glad” is a bit strong, actually. 

JOHN:	I see you found somewhere lovely to wait for me. What a beach! 

JEMIMA:	Beach? What are you talking about? This is more like a quarry with a thousand people freezing to death in ill-judged speedoes. 

JOHN:	Birmingham’s great, isn’t it? Now, have you got Pod?

JEMIMA:	Yeah, he’s jacked into my brain. 

POD:	Hi John. 

JOHN:	Can he hear me?

POD:	I can hear you!

JEMIMA:	He can hear you.

JOHN: 	But I can’t hear him?

POD:	Can you hear me?!

JEMIMA:	No, Pod. John can’t hear you.

POD:	This will make conversation difficult. 

JOHNL	You haven’t seen Graham out here on your travels have you?

JEMIMA:	Graham? Used to be my Graham but is now your Graham? That Graham?

JOHN:	Yeah, he went to the shop for sun tan lotion and hasn’t come back. 

JEMIMA:	No, you’re the first person we’ve seen that we know. 

JOHN:	Ah not to worry, I’m sure he’ll turn up. We’d better get you to the New UKSA Command and Control. It’s nice there. Maybe not as nice as this sun-kissed Birmingham beach, but you’ll like it.

FADE

SCENE 4

F/X: 	A SMALL SHIP LANDING. DOOR HATCH OPENS. COLD WIND BLOWING.

JEMIMA:	I don’t like it. 

JOHN:	What are you on about? It’s lovely here. All mod cons. 

JEMIMA:	John, it’s a barn. And not a nice barn either. It’s one of those barns without walls. Which means all the terminals are getting corroded with damp.

JOHN:	Nah…  

POD:	It’s the Saranex 5, Jemima. They’re all totally munted on it. Look, John’s itching and everything.

JOHN:	This is a state of the art facility! Now, why not take your spacesuit off and warm up. Janet’s making the tea.  

JANET:	(TEETH CHATTERING) C-C-C-Coo-ee! 

POD:	Oh no… Not Janet.

JEMIMA:	John, it’s sub arctic here. Look at Captain Whiskers, he’s like some sort of furry popsicle… 

F/X: 	COMEDY CAT FREEZING SOUND.

JEMIMA:	Poor Janet’s almost frozen to death… 

JANET:	Anyone want a c-c-c-cake?

JEMIMA:	And these cakes she’s handing out are just small stones. 

JOHN:			They’re delicious. 

F/X:					CRACK OF TEETH ON ROCK.

POD:				Ooh that’s nasty.
JEMIMA:			John. You’ve just bitten into a rock.
 
JOHN:			Mmmm. Just like mum used to make!
 
F/X:					SPURT OF BLOOD.
 
JEMIMA:	And now blood is spurting from your mouth. 
 
JOHN:	I think it’s pretty evident that you’re not well, Jemima. That’s ok… a lot of us have been feeling a bit under the weather lately and you’ve been through a very traumatic experience with Pod Zero... 
 
JEMIMA:	Talking of which, I really do want to file a complaint about that…
 
JOHN:	So, it’s understandable if you’re feeling a tad rough. Now, if you don’t want one of Janet’s delicious cakes….
 
JANET:	I m-m-made them with l-l-love.

JEMIMA:	Which I don’t.  

JOHN:	Then Gandecha has told me to take you straight to the medbay. Which is just down here. 

F/X:		FOOT STEPS.

JEMIMA:  			This isn’t a medbay, John. It’s a tarpaulin. 

JOHN:	Noooo… It’s lovely. Have a nice lie down. You’ll feel better in a bit… but just to help you along a bit, Janet’s going to give you a nice big injection of Saranex 5. 

JANET:	You’ll just feel a l-l-little scratch.

F/X: 	A SIREN. A SMALL SHIP LANDING. DOOR HATCH OPENS. 

JEMIMA:	What the shock! I’ve had quite enough of sirens today. 

HARRIET:			My name’s Harriet and I’m here to rescue you. 

POD:	Oooh, it’s your evil twin sister! She’s always fun, isn’t she?

JEMIMA:	Oh god. No, I’m ok thanks, Harriet. I’m just going to follow UKSA medical advice and get under this tarpaulin for a little sleep. Bye.

F/X:		JEMIMA BEING MANHANDLED.

HARRIET: 	Come on Jemima! There’s no time! If that tiny hypothermic witch lady jabs you, you’ll be smashed to the nips and seeing seaside resorts where there’s really only, at best, a David Lloyd leisure centre. 

JANET:	It’ll f-f-feel like a k-k-kiss.

JEMIMA:	So, you’re not tripping the light fandango then?

HARRIET:	Nahh…

JEMIMA:	Hnnnnn…

JOHN:	Join us, Jemima.
JANET:	Jooooin usss….
 
JEMIMA:	Ok then… but I want it known that I’m only coming because… because reasons, ok?
 
F/X:	HATCH CLOSING. 
 
POD:	This is very dramatic, isn’t it?
 
HARRIET:	There’s someone who I think you might like to meet.
 
F/X:		SMALL SHIP POWERING UP.
 
JOHN & JANET:	(SINGING) Somewhere between 
The stars and village green…
 
SCENE 5
 
F/X:					SOUND OF SMALL SHIP IN TRANSIT.
 
JEMIMA:			Wow, it got dark quick.
 
HARRIET:	We’re leaving the biosphere and going over to… (DARKLY) the dark side. 
 
JEMIMA:			Why did you say it like that?

HARRIET:			Because it sounds awesome…

POD:				In fairness, it did sound pretty cool.

HARRIET:	…and because this is literally the dark side of Pluto, where the light isn’t. Dark isn’t it?
 
JEMIMA:	It is. 
 
HARRIET:	Like, really dark. 
 
JEMIMA:	Yeah. 
 
HARRIET:	So very… very… dark… Boo!
 
JEMIMA:	Argh!
 
POD:	I saw that coming. And I let it happen. 
 
JEMIMA:	Damn it, Harriet. What’s going on? And why aren’t you tanked up on Saranex 5 like everyone else?
 
HARRIET:	Well, you remember that awesome star cruiser I’m the captain of? Well, for the last twelve months we’ve been on a government contract paving the way for the evacuation. We made a pretty good job of it too! The space superhighway turned out ace as well, considering all the cheap knock-off materials we used. We even had time to set up a lovely little pub just left of Saturn with ‘coaches welcome’ written on the roof. Awesome, huh? 

JEMIMA:	You’re so… evil. 

HARRIET:	Oh come on. Thanks to all that Saranex 5 we help pump into the atmosphere, everyone here thinks they’re having a wicked time, hanging about in the sun and singing delightful songs about a village green. Apart from the huge amount of frostbite casualties, this is like the Promised Land. Plus, on a personal level, cutting corners on the superhighway meant I had a fair bit of cash to invest in my… other family business interests.

JEMIMA:	Other family business interests?

POD:	Oh my, would you just look at that down there on the surface…

HARRIET:	Let me touch down and I’ll explain. 

SCENE 6

F/X: 					MUFFLED MERRIMENT.

HARRIET:			Right, just wait here while I go and announce you. 

JEMIMA: 	Announce me? What is this place?

F/X:		DOOR OPENS. AND CLOSES.

KING OF FRANCE:	Zut alors! Wo ist der petit boys der room?

JEMIMA:	Hang on, is that the King of France?

HARRIET:	This, Jemima, is the grand Palace of Jubba The Mutt. King of the Gangsters. Back in a tick.  

F/X:		DOOR OPENS. AND CLOSES.

JEMIMA:	Pod, I think the Saranex 5 is getting to me. This place actually looks like a… a palace. 

POD:				I think that’s because…

JEMIMA:			Rather than a hole in the ground…

POD:				Well…

JEMIMA:			Or a quarry… 

POD:				That’s because…

JEMIMA:			Or a midlands town…

POD:	This is a palace, Jemima. And quite a nice one too. Although the upholstery is rather garish for my taste. 

F/X:		DOOR OPENS. AND CLOSES.

HARRIET: 			Ok, we can enter now. 

F/X:	 				FANFARE. MERRIMENT.

HARRIET:	Introducing Princess Maggot Knickers Belafonte…

JEMIMA:	Hey!

HARRIET:	Please kneel everyone. 

JEMIMA:			Kneel?

MUM:				(CALLING) Jemima! Oh Jemima!

JEMIMA:			Mum?! What are you doing here?

POD:				Hey Beadle’s about!

MUM:	Well dancing mostly. And wearing rather skimpy clothing. I like it. Easy access. Very little gussetry. 

JEMIMA:	But why are you dancing? In a palace? And why am I a Princess?

MUM:	Well, a lot of that’s down to your awesome sister, Harriet. Hasn’t she done an awesome job?

HARRIET:	Awww, thanks mum. I love you. 

MUM:	And I love you too, you awesome little tyke.

POD:	What a heart-warming family reunion. It’s really awesome. 

JEMIMA:	I’m not sure it’s that awesome, Pod.

HARRIET:	Come on Jemima, stop talking to yourself and say hello.

JEMIMA:			Hello? Who to? Mum’s right here. 

MUM:	Now Jemima, I don’t want you acting all silly when you meet him.

JEMIMA:			Meet who?

DAD:				Cheeza, beecha, whacka, Jemima. 

JEMIMA:			And who is this cretin?

MUM:				Jemima! That’s no way to speak to your father.

JEMIMA:			Father?! 

HARRIET:	Princess Maggot Knickers, please meet your King and daddy, Albert Charles Horatio Belafonte, first of his name and Grand Mutt of the Jubba.

DAD:	Ooona gatchoo wayng… Sorry… hang on… That’s fixed it. I had my Pet Sounds translator fixed to slug. 

JEMIMA:			Dad? 

DAD:				Hiya turnip. Long time no see.

JEMIMA:			No way.

HARRIET:			Yes way.

POD:				And the feels just keep coming!

DAD:	You alright? I heard you’ve had quite a day. Want to get a coffee? Or smoke some hashish from this massive bong?

JEMIMA: 	I see your parenting skills haven’t deserted you… No, I don’t want anything you have to offer. In fact, I don’t think I ever wanted to see you again. 

DAD:	But you are seeing me, turnip. Right now. With your own two little peepers…

JEMIMA:	Please don’t tussle my hair. 

DAD:	Come on... How about it? Let’s have a little catch up, shall we?

POD:	Jemima, rather than get in the way of what I’m sure is going to be a very emotional and exposition-filled reunion, I think I’m just going to use the wifi to upload myself into the matrix for a bit. There’s a lot going on here and there’s some people I need to speak to about it.

SCENE 7

F/X:		MUFFLED MERRIMENT.

DAD:	Please, make yourself at home. These are my private chambers. No one will bother us in here. Jam tart?

JEMIMA:	Let me get this right. You’re now head of the Moon Gangsters? 

DAD:	Basically, yes. Although the ceremonial title is Grand Mutt of the Jubba and we’re not Moon Gangsters anymore, we’re Pluto Gangsters. Pretty swish huh?

JEMIMA:	But it makes no sense. How did you get involved with organised crime? You’re a scaffolder, aren’t you?

DAD:				Well, I was for a bit. Chelsea bun?

JEMIMA:			How much of a bit? 

DAD:	Until I was about 16. Then I joined Organised Crime. It had better career prospects and a really good dental plan, albeit mainly involving other people’s used teeth.
JEMIMA:		 	But you used to go to work every day. 

DAD:				Yeah. 

JEMIMA:			With scaffold.

DAD:	You can smack a lot of people in the mouth with scaffold. Eccles cake?

JEMIMA:			So… so why did you leave us? Leave me?

DAD:	Well… I never meant to leave as such.

JEMIMA:	But you did! When I was thirteen! You went away and you never came back. 

DAD:	Cream filled éclair?

JEMIMA:	Stop offering pastry and tell me!

DAD:	Ok… ok… I got involved with a job. It was supposed to be a simple smash and grab down at Hatton Garden, but it all went a bit wrong, so I had to lie low for a bit.

JEMIMA:			You’ve been gone almost 20 years! 

DAD:	Ok… maybe it was more than a bit. I wanted to come back. Honesty I did. But then a lot of time passed and you were growing up and Harriet’s career was going great and your mum took up with that Gordon feller… it seemed to me that you were all getting on fine without me. So, I just… stayed away. 

JEMIMA:	But I’ve had the most thoroughly miserable life! I was alone, dad. Alone. Maybe I had mum, and maybe I had Harriet… but I was still alone. I was crippled with allergies. I ended up in a low level space job just to escape the pollen and had a relationship with an accountant. Do you know what that’s like? Dating an accountant? 

DAD:	It’s not been that bad has it, turnip? And you’re a princess now. So that’s nice. 

JEMIMA:			But you’re not a real king are you?

DAD:	Well maybe not a real king. But I’ve got a nice palace. And I run an absolutely massive underground crime syndicate which has allowed us to set up an independent principality on Pluto through sheer force of will, exploitation, black market profiteering and a lucrative off the books project where we sell Saranex 5 to the government. 

JEMIMA: 			And where does all this Saranex 5 come from? 

DAD:	Look, we don’t question why she does what she does or what she ultimately wants. We just take the merchandise and sell it on.

JEMIMA: 	Who is ‘She’?

DAD:	Best you not know, turnip. Plausible deniability.

JEMIMA: 			But who put you in charge of all this?

DAD:	Well, you did.

JEMIMA:	What?

DAS:	I didn’t want the job but when you killed Handsome Booger last Christmas, I was the only person in a position to assume control. 

JEMIMA:	Ah.

DAD:	Apple strudel?

SCENE 8

F/X: 	LOTS OF COMPUTERISED SQUELCHING.

POD: 				Wheeee! 

F/X: 	MORE COMPUTERISED SQUELCHING.

POD 54:			Pod!

POD 12:			POD!

POD 1: 			Edale! Edale! Hathersage and Wentworth!

POD:	Hey! What’s happening dudes? It’s me Pod, with a rep for being rude!

POD 54: 	We’re so glad you’re here, Pod. We were beginning to lose hope. 

POD:	Sorry I’m late. I got a bit caught up in a little bit of a crisis with a massive series of explosions and expositions.

POD 54:	We heard. Pod Zero, right? They should have shelved them years ago. They’re not right.

POD 12: 	NOT RIGHT?! THEY’RE A BLOODY PICNIC SHORT OF A PICNIC! 

POD 54:	They’re not like us pods, with our perfectly calibrated sanity chips.

POD:				So how are you Pod 1?

POD 1: 			Hooton Pagnell. Elsecar. Blyth!

POD 54:			He’s better actually.
POD:	So where is everyone? The Pod Portion of the Black Matrix is usually the hottest joint this side of the Sahara. Where’s the singing? Where’s the gambling? Where’s the willing and adoring audience to hang off my every word as I regale them with them with how brave I was in my epic battle with Pod Zero? I’ve prepared it in epic poem form and everything:
“Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum,
þeod-cyninga þrym gefrunon,”
POD 12:	THAT’S ENOUGH OF THAT CRAP!

POD 54:	We’re all being shelved, Pod.

POD:	Shelved?!

POD 12: 	WOE! WOE!

POD 54:	Yeah, by the time we arrived everyone was chewing their cheeks off on Saranex 5 and spending all day sunbathing in quarries eating rocks. There’s not a lot of work for us anymore. Most of us got parked up at New Luton and, very slowly, we’re powering down… To be honest we thought you’d gone ages ago. 

POD:	Gone? Me? Never. I’m far too cheeky and virile. So what have you been doing then?

POD 54:	Oh whiling away the hours. Occasionally we pop on a record or let Pod 1 tell us about the war.

POD 1:	Holmfirth. 

POD 54:	Pod 12 took up knitting.

POD:	Knitting?

POD 54:			Yeah, digital knitting. 

POD 12: 			I’VE DROPPED A SHOCKING STITCH!

POD 54:	So, what’s the plan then? You want to join us in retirement? We’ve got some really good samples of cardboard we were going to catalogue…

SCENE 9

F/X:		MUFFLED MERRIMENT.

DAD:	We stand on a precipice, turnip! A precipice! Hairy Jenny’s hold on this barren rock is tenuous at best. The right nudge here… A little push there… One small full on popular revolt and we could take control of everything! So how about it? Fancy sacking off the UKSA and joining me?

JEMIMA:	I’m not really sure I’m the organised crime sort, Dad. 

DAD:	Nonsense! I’ve been following your exploits. I’ve seen what you’ve done. Election fraud, marriage for financial gain, cold-blooded murder of my predecessor… You even pushed your own sister into a fully charged ad minefield without a nullifier helmet. That’s cold. Real cold. I could use someone with your ruthlessness. 

JEMIMA:	I’m not ruthless. I’ve… I’ve just been put in some slightly tricksy situations is all.

DAD:	Join me, turnip.

JEMIMA:	Haven’t you got Harriet for that?

DAD:	Harriet? Harriet’s not a patch in you. She’s just evil. 

JEMIMA:	Just?

DAD:	Yeah. She reached her potential ages ago cutting corners and siphoning cash. I like her style of course, but you… you, Jemima… You remind me of me….

DAD STARTS TO OPEN HIS HEART TO JEMIMA

DAD:	You’re the kind of person who everybody ignores, who nobody thinks is special… just another worker drone, working and droning. But you’re not. You have an inner strength…  You might keep it hidden, you might even be scared to admit it to yourself… but know, just like I did, that you’re actually destined for greatness. 

	Look around you, sweetheart. I did all of this for you. This is my inheritance to you. I built an empire for you to rule over. I want you to become Grand Mutt. I really do.

Because I’ve always believed in you Jemima. I’ve always known that one day, you and you alone will change the life of every single person in the entire solar system.

And I always will...		 

JEMIMA:	(Getting genuinely emotional) Dad I’m.... I don’t know what to…

DAD: 	(Breaking the emotion) And look, I’ve got you a present and everything! 

F/X:		A CURTAIN BEING OPENED.

DAD:	Ta-Da!!

JEMIMA:			Graham!

GRAHAM:			Hiya Jemima. You ‘k?

DAD:	Behold, your ex boyfriend! The one who left you and started dating your boss. And now he’s naked in a cage. 

GRAHAM:	It’s not very comfortable. 

DAD	Turnip, I have here a small garden trowel. All you’ve got to do is say that you’ll join me, and the trowel is yours. You can do anything you like with it. Anything. Wink. 

JEMIMA:	You don’t need to say wink, dad.

DAD:	Just say yes, turnip!  

JEMIMA:	But I’m not like that, Dad. Plus, I don’t bare Graham any ill will, not these days. Not really. I’m over it.

GRAHAM:	Hurrah!

DAD:	He left you for the man who trapped you alone in a pod and sent you on a three year mission to the far end of the solar system. 

JEMIMA:	Hmmm… Well, maybe I could just turn over a little topsoil.

GRAHAM:	Boo. 

DAD:	That’s my girl.

JEMIMA:	I’m not your girl… Ah shock it!

F/X:		CLANG OF TROWL HITTING FACE.

DAD:	Yargh! A trowel to the face. The perfect reverse metaphor for all the emotional pain I caused you as an adolescent. 

F/X:					EXPLOSION. SIREN.

JEMIMA:	Could we stop with the sirens for 10 minutes?		
DAD: 				You’re so ruthless! 

PETE:	My name’s Pete Thomas and I’m here to rescue you.

JEMIMA:	Oh Pete! Hi! It’s lovely to see you but I’m not sure I need much rescuing. 

PETE:	So, I can see. How about the naked guy in the cage?

GRAHAM:	Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a bit of rescuing to be honest.

JEMIMA:	I think he’s fine.

PETE:	He looks very uncomfortable.  

JEMIMA:	He looks exactly like anyone that cheats on me. 

PETE:	Noted. Bloke with a trowel in his eye?

JEMIMA:	My dad. 

PETE:	Oh... Oh, hello Mr Belafonte. My name’s Pete Thomas and I’d just like you to know that my intentions toward your…

F/X:					EXPLOSIONS.

JEMIMA:	What’s with all the explosions?

PETE:	I thought they’d be cool. 

JEMIMA:	Nice. Now hold me in your arms and kiss me. 
	
DAD:	Ruthless!

SCENE 10

F/X:	THE SQUELCHY COMPUTERISED SOUNDS OF THE BLACK MATRIX.

POD:	So, let me get this right… you’re all just going to sit here and do nothing?

POD 54:	No, not nothing. I was just about to break open a stash of new cat gifs.

POD 12:	GET IN! 

POD:	Oh come on!

POD 54:			What would you have us do? We’re just pods.

POD:	Just pods? Just pods?! We’re UKSA state of the art, class 7, low-to-medium orbit maintenance vehicles! We’re the thirteenth or fourteenth best in the eighty-second or eighty-third best space agency in the history of mankind! Look upon our outer shells and perhaps we’re just oversized pig iron screwdrivers best suited to tightening up smutware satellites… but gaze inside our souls and are we not built for so much more?!

POD 54:			No. 

POD 12:			NO!

POD 1: 			Edale.

POD:	Well then, let me put it like this. Do you like being retired? 

PODS (ALL):	Ermmm…

POD:	Do you really like cardboard?

POD 54:			Not really.

POD:				And do you like knitting?

POD 12:			I SHOCKING HATE KNITTING SO MUCH!

POD:				Would you like to have some fun?

POD 1:			Hope and Penistone!

POD: 	Ok then, let’s take this mother down! 

PODS (ALL):			Hurrah.  

POD:				Pods! To Pluto!

CREDITS	

SCENE 11: AFTER CREDITS

F/X:	BBC NEWS BULLETIN BLAST. DISGRUNTLED CROWD.

REPORTER:	Breaking news: Reports are coming in of spontaneous rioting all across the UK Pluto biosphere.
	
Also. God Save The Queen.

END