Sound of engine grinding.
MARTIN, near sobbing: I'm trying, Carolyn!
CAROLYN, over the phone: Do or do not! There is no try!
MARTIN gives a wordless cry of pain and flings open his door. Sound of running feet.
MARTIN: I'm on foot! I'm running! I can do a mile in... not very many minutes!
CAROLYN: It's five miles!
MARTIN: I'm trying! I'm hanging up! I have to save my breath!
Sound of running feet and increasingly heavy panting breath.
Sound of purring engine.
DOUGLAS: Going my way, pilot?
Sound of car door. Sound of heaving breath.
DOUGLAS: Why, sir. Sir isn't looking so good. Is sir in the best of shape?
DOUGLAS: Perhaps sir has had a few too many double whipped cream triple espresso mocha coffees.
MARTIN: Piss off.
DOUGLAS: What happened to your van this time?
MARTIN: Stalled. It's the thermostat. It's a cheap fix, but I don't have any money, and I can't make any money because the van keeps stalling, so I don't know where my rent is coming from, so piss off.
DOUGLAS: I see.
Sound of purring engine. Engine stops. Doors open.
Sounds of pilots going through the engine check.
DOUGLAS: Plane seems to go.
DOUGLAS: Seems to go quite cheekily, in fact. Someone must have been giving Gertie her sugar lumps.
MARTIN: Yes, bring it on. The many, many quips. Go ahead.
DOUGLAS: Perhaps sir should invest in a horse.
MARTIN: Here we go.
DOUGLAS: They live on grass, I hear, and can pull quite a lot.
MARTIN: Colic. Laminitis. Rain rot. Spavins.
DOUGLAS: Sir has given this some thought, I see.
MARTIN: Copilot can stop with the bloody sir.
DOUGLAS: Sir is magnanimous and kind.
MARTIN: I'd stab you in the neck if I thought I wouldn't get caught.
DOUGLAS: Fortunately for me, sir is lacking in luck and foresight.
MARTIN: Right in the neck.
DOUGLAS: As a matter of interest... how much would you accept for your captain's stripes?
DOUGLAS: Never thought about that?
DOUGLAS: We have three hours twenty to consider.
Sound of engines.
DOUGLAS: Seventy minutes.
MARTIN: How much do you actually make?
MARTIN: Enough to afford a Lexus, I can see that.
DOUGLAS: Far more than that.
DOUGLAS: Less than him.
MARTIN: I can't believe I'm even entertaining this idea.
DOUGLAS: I can't believe you haven't already said yes.
MARTIN: All I have left is my pride.
MARTIN: What do I have, then?
DOUGLAS: I meant, you really don't have much pride.
MARTIN: Fine. No. No money. You cannot be captain. I'll starve and die in my stripes.
MARTIN: Choke on that.
DOUGLAS: Well, you do have pride, I see. Or at least a shocking case of spite. Much the same in the end.
MARTIN'S stomach growls.
DOUGLAS: Sir is getting a head start, I see.
MARTIN: Piss off.
DOUGLAS: How much does a thermostat actually cost, anyway?
DOUGLAS: It occurs to me that if you die, Carolyn is down a pilot, we're no longer qualified to fly, the company goes under, and I'm out of a job.
MARTIN: From hell's heart I spit at thee.
Sound of paper.
MARTIN: Fifty quid?
DOUGLAS: Does that cover a thermostat?
MARTIN: Actually, yes.
DOUGLAS: Consider it a tribute to sir.
MARTIN: I will.
Sound of paper being stuffed into a pocket.
MARTIN'S stomach growls again.
DOUGLAS, over the intercom: Arthur, biscuits on the double! Our mighty leader requires sustenance!
MARTIN: Why have you gone on this sudden sir jag?
DOUGLAS: It seemed to suit sir.
MARTIN: Piss off. And thanks. But mostly, piss off.