Absolutely Anything

Thirty seconds and counting.

Power transfer is complete.

We're on internal power with the launch vehicle at this time.

T minus 20 seconds and counting.

All the second-stage tanks now pressurised.

T minus 15 seconds. Guidance is internal.

Twelve, eleven, ten, 9...

Ignition sequence starts.

Six, five, four, three, two, one,

zero. All engines running.

Lift off! We have a lift off.

And so in 1972,

the Atlas Centaur rocket blasted off from our planet,

a four-stage rocket that launched a probe

way out into the blackness of space.

The probe would use the energy from the sun

and the gravitational pull of our neighbouring planets

to cross our solar system.

That momentum would then carry it on

into the farthest reaches of the universe.

The mission, to find intelligent life similar to ours

out there in deep space.

The probe carried a tablet which had inscribed on it

the image of us humans, a man and a woman,

and a map to locate us in the universe.

Stage four disconnects and our probe is fired on its long journey.

The world wished it bon voyage

and may it find a friend out there

in deep space.

Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Hey! Thank you very much. Thank you.

Thank you, nice to see you.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.

When I interviewed Neil Clarke for The Book Programme,

I knew he was extraordinary.

Now, with the publication of his brilliant novel,

reviewers agree he's joined the ranks

of Britain's immortals.

Ladies and gentlemen, Neil Clarke.

Um, so I suppose I wanted to start off by asking you

how did you manage such amazing insight into the soul of modern man

and how do you know what men and women really want,

just really the whole relationship between humanity and the cosmos?

Yeah, well, I think I probably achieved that

by looking into my own soul, Catherine.

Um, I studied its flaws,

its potential, its urgent needs.

I listened to its cries for help...

...and its yelps of anguish and, um, I...

I spent five long years

in a book which I hoped would throw open the doors of human perception

and allow us to be engulfed in a sense of our own futility.

Sorry about this, it's...

Get off! Down!

Ah!

Oh, God.

Go watch TV.

Your dog is barking.

My dog was barking because you rang the doorbell.

I rang the doorbell because your dog was barking.

Your lease says no pets.

Well, he is a guide dog.

You're not blind.

I prefer the term "optically challenged".

You're not optically challenged, either.

Fiona, you live, like, three floors up. I mean, I don't...

If you don't control your bloody dog,

I am going to get it sent to Battersea Dogs Home. Right?

- Hmm? - All right.

Come on, Dennis, let's go and evacuate your bowels.

Come on, Dennis.

Come on.

- Hi, Neil. - Hi, Catherine.

Hey, it's funny, I was just dreaming about you.

Really?

Yeah, you were presenting me with an award for my novel.

Oh, did you deserve it?

Well, I was proud but humble.

Have you finished it, actually, in real life?

Absolutely, almost, yeah.

Cos last spring you were on chapter...

Yeah, I've renumbered them. In fact, I've removed them.

- Oh. - Yeah.

I find the whole concept of chapters just gets in the way so...

Yeah. Yeah, no, I can see that.

I want reading it to be like being sucked into a giant vortex, you know.

- Like going on Facebook. - Like Facebook, yeah.

That's a good one.

"Like being sucked into a giant vortex."

Dennis, why do you let me say things like this, hey?

Come on.

Hmm. Mmm?

Ah.

- Come on, Ray. It's only 20 quid. - No, I can't, Neil.

- Yeah, but it can't lose. - No.

Look, I guarantee you a 50% return on your money

before the end of classes today.

So when do you make your move on Miss Booker Prize downstairs, then?

Oh, I don't. Turns out she's a bit literal-minded, no foresight.

Whereas me, I can see for miles into the future.

A man needs a woman, Neil.

- I've got Dennis. - Dennis is male.

And he's a dog, in case you hadn't noticed.

Yeah, well, I don't want to complicate my life.

This is a tenner!

Walk!

Accessing representative images of earthlings.

Communication will be carried on in the language of the species to be judged.

I'm sorry, I'm not understanding.

Ah.

- Is that better, Kylie? - Understanding you now, Sharon.

By the power invested in me by the Intergalactic Council of Superior Species,

I hereby pronounce a destruction order on the planet Earth.

With great respect, Sharon, we should not pronounce a destruction order

before we've given these earthlings a chance to prove themselves.

They've penetrated intergalactic space.

Maureen is right.

They're clearly not a superior species.

Look at the way they copulate.

If these earthlings

can convince us that they are superior beings, then they may join our society.

If they cannot, we must eliminate them,

for the moral well-being of the entire Intergalactic Community.

Thank you for explaining it to me, Sharon.

Not at all, Miss Barker.

No, Grant, I don't want to talk to you.

No, I don't want to see you, either.

We had a great time last summer but it's over.

What part of over do you not understand?

Thank you for calling. Goodbye.

These questions of yours make it sound as if I thought

this bloody author can string two words together.

But he can. It's a wonderful book.

Darling, didn't you read the memo? We're doing a demolition job.

But it's the best thing he's ever written. Everyone says so.

That's why we have to pee on it from a great height.

I want ten new questions, please, before noon.

Don't you know? She never reads the books. She hates books.

Why is she presenting a book programme, then?

I spy trouble. Just...

Look, Catherine, you may despise her ego,

but that's what people tune in to see.

Not books, not authors, God forbid,

but Fenella's rampant, pulsating, sexually arousing ego.

No, I think people watch because it's a book programme and they love books.

Books are finished.

Our job is to provide scandal, gossip and character assassination,

with a thin veneer of literary respectability.

Oh, so we're not just selling out, then? We've sold out?

Exactly.

For God's sake, smile.

It's enough to make you weep, isn't it?

What?

The price of pickles. Don't even look at the marinated herring.

Honestly, you'd be suicidal.

I didn't want them, anyway.

Thanks.

Um, I also offer support and counselling on dips, dried fruit and pasta sauces.

She's gone.

- The usual test, Sharon? - The usual test, Kylie.

One earthling will be chosen randomly,

as defined by the Intergalactic Manual of Good and Evil.

Page 56. paragraph B.

Uh, page 56, paragraph D.

Uh, right.

To prove that they understand the difference between good and evil.

How will they prove it?

They will be given the power that all superior beings have.

The earthling will be capable of doing absolutely anything.

What if he uses his power for evil?

The Earth will be eliminated.

But if he uses it for good?

Then we welcome them to the Intergalactic Community.

Are we ready, gentlemen?

Commencing random selection of earthlings.

Processing...

Processing...

Earthling.

Jolly good!

Wait!

Selected.

The earthling has ten days to prove he can use absolute power for good

rather than for evil.

God.

Fuck you!

All they want me to do is help them sneer at people who write wonderful books.

Well, my producer just wants me to dig up dirt on Amenhotep III.

I keep telling them he had a kind nature

and lovely hands.

I would have loved to spend an evening with Amenhotep III.

Yeah, except he's been dead 4,000 years, Rosie,

and he'd spend all day long talking about embalming.

Well, find me a good one that's still breathing.

Tell me about it.

What about Grant?

Oh, well, Colonel Grant turned out to have issues.

- Issues? - Yeah, like being clinically insane.

Shame.

Maybe that's overstating it.

Uh, just obsessive, possessive and pathologically jealous.