REBECCA: Mr Schill, I'm not sure you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation in which you find yourself. The scope of your failure is wider than you think. CLIVE: Oh right. Do elaborate.

CLIVE: It's a goddamn cruise ship! PAMELA: It's a goddamn cruise ship. You poured the bourbon on top of the brine. You son of a bitch, you made cryonic preservation fun.

WARREN PUTS IN THE TAPE. IMMEDIATELY AN EAR-BLEEDING METAL TRACK PLAYS.

GORDON: There's no shame in not wanting to get yourself hurt. Especially if you've done nothing to earn it.

GORDON: He was starting to calm down. He climbed back in through his bedroom window so he could eat the fondant fancies I'd got for him. Somehow we got talking about his memory, it was stupid of me.

CLIVE: Sorry guys... are you... are you trying to fuck me? REBECCA: I beg your pardon?

GORDON: Well I'm worried. WARREN: Well, thank you, Gordon. GORDON: For myself! Clive smashed an office chair into the wall and now he's staring at the fire extinguisher like it insulted his mother.

WARREN: Sure. Bye Clive. CLIVE: Sweet dreams, cockchops.

AUBREY: His arm just came off. In Ben’s hand. The shock killed Grizzly in less than a minute. We're done, it's all over. I told Halbech to go fuck herself and I'm locked in my bathroom with half a packed bag and my coat on like I'm a bloody teenager.

AUBREY: It's good to see another face. I know it's only been 8 days and I've had no trouble on my own, it's just...good to have someone to talk to. Soon this place will have people everywhere and I'll probably miss the peace and quiet.

PAUSE. WARREN: Would you rather have arms as long as your pubes, or pubes as long as your arms?

AUBREY: You're the brick and I'm the balloon tied to it, that's what you used to say. HESTER: Even bricks get to freak out occasionally, my love AUBREY: It's going to be okay.

CLIVE: You know what the biggest stress of my life is? Chlamydia. The sexual health nurses are the busiest people on the ship. REBECCA: Jesus wept. CLIVE: Their names are Chloe and Lydia as well, you couldn't make it up.

CLIVE: Oh, there she is. She looks terrible in blue. PAMELA: What? CLIVE: Francesca Jones. Sat there like she owns the place. Drinking her fizzy fucking water.

BRYONY: You're an archivist, Gordon. It is your singular vocation. Archive Red Valley for me.

GORD: These recordings are taken from cassette tape. There are no timestamps. WARREN IS THINKING. WARREN: He cares very much about presentation.

WARREN: You're friends with Laura at the hotel? EMILY: No, I hate her guts. We're friends on Facebook.

A TORTOISE IS SITTING ON THE DINING TABLE. WARREN: No way! That’s not really her! AUBREY: It's really her. WARREN: Waffles! Bloody hell!

CLIVE: We can do a She's All That. Right, take the glasses off at the right moment, shake your hair out. But don't make it look like you're shaking your hair out, we don't want to be too obvious.

GORDON: I watched you run a scalpel through your own hand! And you barely flinched. I watch you over and over, you walk off to go back into that pod not knowing if you're going to come back out again and there's almost a spring in your step.

CAFE OWNER: A Mazda Bongo Friendee.

GORDON: Do you have a card I could take? WARREN: Oh. Yeah, yeah I do! WARREN DIGS AROUND A MOMENT AND PRODUCES A LITTLE CASE OF BUSINESS CARDS. WARREN: You're actually the first person to ask for one of these.

GORDON: So, my sizzle reel was too much, I'm sorry, that's probably my issue, I care very much about presentation, I'm sorry.

CLIVE: A boiled potato with no fucking butter.

WARREN: Oscar isn't going to show up, is he? GORD: No. WARREN: How long does he wait? GORD: The recording lasts another 40 minutes.

HESTER: You are a bloody balloon. AUBREY: Then thank goodness I'm tied to you.

HESTER'S WORDS ARE FIRM BUT SHE DELIVERS THEM GENTLY. THEY COULD BE SQUABBLING OVER THEIR TEENAGE SON.

GORDON: I didn't think it was right to look when he doesn't even seem to know himself. BRYONY: Or because you were scared of what you might see? What you might learn about your friend?

CLIVE: Oh, there she is. She looks terrible in blue. PAMELA: What? CLIVE: Francesca Jones. Sat there like she owns the place. Drinking her fizzy fucking water.

GORDON: They're hooked up to every bit of monitoring going, like a super intensive care unit, they're fully anaesthetised, tubes in their mouths, in their arms, in their cocks, the lot.

CLIVE SNAPS HIS FINGERS. CLIVE: Bloody hell, she’s the voice of Blue Sky! REBECCA: Yes. Yes, I am. CLIVE: Malcolm got his own daughter to be the voice of the Overhead virtual assistant. I did not know that.

BRYONY: They're just a higher class of dead. Premium dead, if you will. And they'll be premium dead forever.

WARREN: Oh, yeah, yeah. Sure. You haven't been waiting for me to wake up this whole time, have you? GORDON: Well, all anyone does here is wait for you to wake up.,

CLIVE: Little Sammy Scrotum.

AUBREY: Oh! Er… Warren! WARREN: Yeah? AUBREY: I thought we might try and save Gordon's life, what do you think? WARREN: Oh. Umm… yeah… Yeah. Sure!

CLIVE: Hey, I don't make the rules. I just threaten people until they follow them.

WARREN: Right now, I’m… I'm this version of Warren Godby, whoever and whenever he is. Next time, I might be different. Or the time after that, or the time after that.

GORD: Metropolis zone. Is where I always give up. Just a faff, I think.

GORDON: I could see it in your eyes, this stuff speaks to you. You give a shit. WARREN: A long time ago, maybe...Not now. GORDON: A long time ago? You're not Gandalf the fucking Grey!

REBECCA: After the destruction of the cryonics laboratory at Red Valley in which valuable assets in your care were stolen or destroyed- CLIVE: Such as my kneecaps.

WARREN: Eaten by pigs floating in space. GORDON: That is good.

CLIVE: Now I have to find the considerable energy to murder you and make it look like an elaborate suicide and I haven't had nearly enough sleep or cheesecake to do that. It's the middle of the fucking night and I don't appreciate it Graham.

WARREN: I need to see him please.

WARREN: I don't think I'm alright, Gordon.

WARREN: Gordon's just an old fruit. The whole company is crawling with this kind of guy, little mole men who never see daylight and want to be in the X-Files.

AUBREY: They must've been desperate. No offence. WARREN: None taken, spirit guide. AUBREY: I'm not your spirit guide, Warren.

GORD: How about Gord? AUBREY: Gord? GORD: Just think of a small pumpkin.

GORDON: I never felt like I had any control in this, not since the night we got here. But at least I had a fairly good idea of who wore the good hats and who wore the bad hats. I don't even know which hat I'm wearing any more. I don't even own a hat.

AUBREY: Halbech? Dr Halbech? Bryony, answer your fucking comm! DR THOMAS: She's gone, you're in charge of this fucker's airway. Come on.

AUBREY: Or you'll go down in history as the first man crushed to death by a ballbag.