He may be an utterly deranged kidnapper, but you can't knock his table manners. Talkie Toaster meets gestalt entity Legion.

Name: Legion Legion
Occupation: Genius, artist, psychopath
Qualifications: Able to access the collective intellects of myriad people, but unable to avoid also accessing their combined rage.
Distinguishing Marks: Baby-face mask - covering the weirdest combined physiognomy since Michael Jackson.
Comments: Created by some of the finest minds of the 23rd century, Legion is a gestalt entity created from whoever populates his research station. When he was composed of the universe's most intelligent scientists, he was quite brilliant - when made up of the Red Dwarf posse, he had a psycho rating of four and a half chainsaws. Given the tight outfit Legion wore, you have to wonder if he had gestalt tackle, too.

First questions first - would you like some toast?

In my time alone I have become familiar with most forms of cuisine. I have experienced some of the finest wines, most succulent dishes and sweetest desserts humanity has ever created. So no, I do not want toast.

Okay, tell me about your encounter with the Starbug crew.

You know, I wish I'd fixed that blasted guidance beam when I had the chance. But you try getting spare parts out here. You start by thinking that it's a bit of company, someone to talk to after millennia alone. But trust me when I tell you that when your mind is composed from four utterly screwed-up losers, you start to dream of another century or two with only a game of solitaire for company.


How exactly did their combined psyches affect you?

It was a nightmare. For example, I had Rimmer's hatred and Kryten's guilt. So I hated everyone, but I still wanted to help them. Despite believing that everyone had robbed me of opportunities, I still wanted to serve them all drinks and wash their duvet covers. It's unbearable.

Being a gestalt entity, being forced to be comprised of the mind-sets of those around you, gives you such peculiar drives and desires. Which reminds me - would you like some toast?


I thought perhaps a couple of slices of granary bread, lightly grilled and coated in butter and jam...

But...but...I'm a machine. I don't eat.

Oh, come on now, everyone likes a nice piece of toast. How about a muffin?

I'm sorry. I don't want any toast.

Maybe a bagel?


A succulent crumpet?


But you must. It is my reason for being. I toast therefore I am.

Hey, that's my motto!

Tell you what, I'll whip up some scrummy croissants and we can have them sitting here just in case.

Oh this is horrible! Forced to taste my own bitter medicine!

Hey, you know what they say - 'a slice of toast helps the medicine go down'.

They don't say that.

They do - I've heard them.


This is getting unbearably surreal. Can we get back to the topic?


Thank you.

I served the Starbug crew a fabulous meal on their arrival. The finest Mimosian cuisine, all served with telekinetic wine and mastered with anti-matter chopsticks. And you know what I realised?

No toast?

Well, that too. But I realised they might have been lying about their experiences in high society. For a group who claimed to be proficient with anti-matter chopsticks, a lot of the meal ended up on the walls...or on Rimmer.

Speaking of Rimmer, I understand he had the greatest appreciation for your artistic abilities...

Indeed. In my spare time I have indulged my love of art in sculpture and paint. It relaxes me. That and holding people captive until their deaths from old age. Rimmer seemed delighted by one of my pieces in particular. He admired the bold, stark sculpted lines. I hardly had the heart to tell him it was the light switch.

I understand that you also have a cyberpark in the complex?

A fabulous creation that place. Cyborgs who can be programmed to fulfil any number of psychological characteristics, who can alter their appearance to whatever is desired. When my creators - professors Davro, Holder, Quayle and Heidegger - built the park, I have to say it hindered their research a little.

How little?

Well, let's see. They built the park in October 2281, and the next time I saw one of them do any work it was...well, sometime in the twenty-three-hundreds, anyway. A fuse had blown and Quayle came out to fix it. That was pretty much all I saw of them until they died - except for one Friday morning when Holder emerged to pick up a bungee cord and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I didn't ask.

Anyway, I think that's all the questions we have time for...

Hang on, that's what I'm supposed to say!

It's been a pleasure talking to you....


Just one final question - would you like some toast?

Cut that out!

How about a lovely toasted teacake?

Stop it!

But if you don't want any toast then my life is meaningless.

This is going to go on all night...

How about a Scotch pancake?

Thank you Legion. One final question - would you like some toast?