1 Toaster View.
The screen hums and crackles with white noise, which clears to a computer
display:
BOOT UP SEQUENCE INITIATED
Clears to display:
VISUAL SYSTEM CCD 517.3
ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE SYSTEM K177
MACHINE IDENT: TALKIE TOASTER ,,=============
MANUFACTURER: TAIWAN (( CRAPOLA INC.
RECOMMENDED RETAIL PRICE: ``=============
$#19.99 PLUS TAX
Clears to display:
AURAL SYSTEM: ON-LINE
This vanishes, to be replaced with a view of KRYTEN; it is heavily biased
toward the chin, as though shot from beneath, and through a yellow
filter. As we watch, the yellow fades, to be replaced by colours.
KRYTEN: Hello? Can you hear me? Oh, no, of course not: I haven't
engaged your verbal systems.
He presses some buttons on an off-screen keyboard.
LISTER: (From offscreen) Kryten.
2 Int. Science room.
LISTER approaches KRYTEN.
LISTER: Kryten, what you doing, man?
KRYTEN: I've just repaired the toaster, Sir. Well, I've nearly repaired
the toaster.
LISTER: Oh NO, man! Dismantle him! You don't know what the little
bleeder's like!
KRYTEN: Well, I've read all the documentation, Sir. He's simply a
talking alarm clock who provides his owner with early morning toast and
light conversation.
LISTER: Not this one. This one's mental!
KRYTEN: Sir?
LISTER: He's defective. He wants everyone to eat toast ALL OF THE TIME.
He's obsessed with it. And if you don't want to eat, like, four
hundreds rounds of toast EVERY HOUR, he throws a major wobbly. That's
what caused the accident in the first place.
KRYTEN: What accident?
LISTER: The accident involving me, the toaster, the waste disposal and
the fourteen pound lump-hammer.
KRYTEN: That explains why he was down in the garbage hold in three
thousand separate pieces.
LISTER: Another thing. He always says "Howdy doodly do." Drives you
spare. I mean, what the smeg does "Howdy doodly do" mean?
KRYTEN: Well, just trust me, Sir. My motives will become clear.
He presses some more buttons on the keyboard. The TOASTER lights up and
speaks. Its bread-lowering lever moves up and down as it speaks with its
mid-Atlantic accent in an impossibly cheerful tone:
TOASTER: Howdy doodly do! How's it going? I'm Talkie -- Talkie Toaster,
your chirpy breakfast companion. Talkie's the name, toasting's the
game. Anyone like any toast?
LISTER: Look, _I_ don't want any toast, and _he_ (indicating KRYTEN)
doesn't want any toast. In fact, no one around here wants any toast.
Not now, not ever. NO TOAST.
TOASTER: How 'bout a muffin?
LISTER: OR muffins! OR muffins! We don't LIKE muffins around here! We
want no muffins, no toast, no teacakes, no buns, baps, baguettes or
bagels, no croissants, no crumpets, no pancakes, no potato cakes and no
hot-cross buns and DEFINITELY no smegging flapjacks!
TOASTER: Aah, so you're a waffle man!
LISTER: (to KRYTEN) See? You see what he's like? He winds me up, man.
There's no reasoning with him.
KRYTEN: If you'll allow me, Sir, as one mechanical to another. He'll
understand me. (Addressing the TOASTER as one would address an errant
child) Now. Now, you listen here. You will not offer ANY grilled
bread products to ANY member of the crew. If you do, you will be on
the receiving end of a very large polo mallet.
TOASTER: Can I ask just one question?
KRYTEN: Of course.
TOASTER: Would anyone like any toast?
KRYTEN: Didn't you HEAR what I just said?
TOASTER: Yes, but I thought you might have changed your mind in the
meantime.
LISTER: You see? You see what he's like?
KRYTEN: (Exasperated) We haven't changed our mind!
LISTER: NO TOAST!
TOASTER: But I am a toaster. It is my /raison d'etre/. I toast,
therefore I am. If you don't want any toast, why did you repair me?
LISTER: Yeah, why did you repair him?
KRYTEN: He's a guinea pig for a technique called "Intelligence
Compression." His AI chips were very badly damaged in the accident.
TOASTER: But that was no accident! That was first-degree toastercide!
LISTER: Just shut your grill!
LISTER elbows the toaster in the grill, hard. It says "Ow," but nothing
more.
KRYTEN: By re-routing his circuitry, and channelling all his runtime
through a single CPU, I've managed to restore his intelligence, at the
cost of reducing his operational lifespan.
LISTER: So?
KRYTEN: So, if it works with him, it could work with Holly. We could
restore her IQ of six thousand. She could be brilliant again.
3 Int. Later.
In a different section of Red Dwarf. The entire crew is here. Cables
fill the corridor. KRYTEN is re-routing circuitry with a large
screwdriver
RIMMER: You really think this can work? You really think that airhead of
a computer can become a genius again?
KRYTEN: Well, with no disrespect to Holly, Sir, it could hardly make her
worse.
CAT: Right. If we can just teach her to count without banging her head
on the screen it's gonna be an improvement.
LISTER: Computer senility. Such a weird condition.
KRYTEN: I know. I had a mechanoid friend once who suffered from the same
affliction. His name was Gilbert, but he preferred it if people called
him "Rameses Niblick the Third, Kerplunk Kerplunk, Whoops, Where's My
Thribble." A sad case.
RIMMER: Well, if you ask me, the Eskimos had the right idea. They KNEW
how to handle the elderly and the permanently baffled. Middle of the
night, they'd take them out into the blizzard, remove their pyjamas,
and just leave them to it.
KRYTEN: And that's how the Eskimos cared for their old people?
RIMMER: Absolutely. That's why there's no Eskimo word for "Eastbourne."
LISTER: If we can pull this off, man, if Holly CAN get her brains back,
she'll be able to do anything. Invent a hyperdrive, get us back to
Earth...
KRYTEN: If Earth still exists. And if it does, it's very doubtful the
human race will have survived.
LISTER: All right then, a time machine. She can invent a time machine,
and we could all pick whatever period in history we wanted to live in.
RIMMER: Well, it'll be the nineteenth century for me. One of Napoleon's
marshals. The chance to march across Europe with the greatest general
of all time and kill Belgians. Marvellous.
LISTER: What about you, Kryters?
KRYTEN: Well, if I could go anywhere, absolutely anywhere at all in time,
I think I'd probably choose to go back to a week last Tuesday.
LISTER: Why?
KRYTEN: Don't you remember? I did all the laundry, and then we watched
TV. Wow, we won't see the like of THOSE sorts of days again.
HOLLY appears on the viewscreen.
HOLLY: How long now?
LISTER: Nearly there, Hol. Just a couple of minutes to load the circuits
and, I dunno, maybe a minute to finalise the connection.
HOLLY bangs her head on the screen -- once, twice, thrice
HOLLY: So, it's just three minutes then? Better get down to the science
room.
CAT: We'd better pray to God this works. That ion storm has really done
her head in, man.
4 Int. Science room.
HOLLY's console is surrounded by cables in what looks like a string-and-
sticky-tape operation. Skutters rush about manipulating cables. An
electronic bleep sounds.
HOLLY: There's the signal. Everything's set.
TOASTER: Well, let's just hope you don't get an overload.
HOLLY: What happens if I DO get an overload?
TOASTER: You'll explode.
HOLLY: Oh. (Thinks a bit.) It'd be worth it.
A skutter pulls a wire. A rumble begins to build.
HOLLY: It's coming! I can feel it!
The rumble builds up. Electrical sparks shoot up and down the cables;
minor explosions occur. HOLLY's image on the viewscreen shatters and
flies outward. The viewscreen displays:
NEW IQ RATING: 68.
HOLLY's face reappears, with eyes crossed and a goofy expression.
NEW IQ RATING: 368.
Again, the image explodes, to be replaced by a more normal-looking HOLLY;
but the head seems to waver as though under great stress.
NEW IQ RATING: 2,368.
When the display settles to...
NEW IQ RATING: 12,368.
HOLLY's image vanishes from the viewscreen. Her head appears,
hologramatically, within the science room, about two feet off the ground
and four feet tall.
HOLLY: Strike a light, I'm a genius again! I know everything!
Metaphysics, philosophy, the purpose of being; everything! Ask me a
question, any question, and I'll answer it!
TOASTER: Any question?
HOLLY: Yes.
TOASTER: How to break the speed of light? How to marry quantum mechanics
and classical physics? Any question at all -- truly anything -- and
you will answer?
HOLLY: Yes.
TOASTER: Okay, here's my question: Would you like some toast?
HOLLY: No, thank you. Now ask me another.
TOASTER: Do you know anything about the use of chaos theory in predicting
weather cycles?
HOLLY: I know everything there is to know about chaos theory in
predicting weather cycles!
TOASTER: Oh, very well. Here's my second question: Would you like a
crumpet?
HOLLY: (slowly) I'm a computer with a IQ of twelve thousand. You don't
seem to understand; I know the meaning of the universe!
TOASTER: That is not answering my question.
HOLLY: No, I would not like a crumpet! Ask me a sensible question.
Preferably one that isn't bread-related.
TOASTER: Very well, I have a third question. A sensible question. A
question that will tax your new IQ to its very limits and stretch the
sinews of your knowledge to bursting point.
HOLLY: This is going to be about waffles, isn't it?
TOASTER: Certainly not. And I resent the implication that I am a one-
dimensional, bread-obsessed electrical appliance.
HOLLY: I apologise, toaster. What's the question?
TOASTER: The question is this: Given that God is infinite, and that the
universe is also infinite, would you like a toasted tea-cake?
HOLLY: That's another bready question.
TOASTER: It's not just bready, it's quite curranty too.
HOLLY: Ask me a question that is wholly unbready and not even slightly
curranty.
TOASTER: Okay. Why have you got an IQ of twelve thousand when it was
supposed to return and level out at six?
HOLLY: Good question! There was a miscalculation. My IQ has doubled,
but my life expectancy has been exponentially reduced.
TOASTER: So what is your life expectancy?
With a BLIP, the viewscreen in the background pops up with:
LIFE EXPECTANCY 345
TOASTER: Three hundred and forty-five years? Well, it's better than a
kick in the breadtray.
HOLLY: (worried) Missed the decimal point...
TOASTER: You have only three point four one years left to live?
HOLLY: (panicking) That's not years, that's minutes: three point four
one minutes!
TOASTER: Well, here's my next question: What the smeg are you going to
do?
HOLLY: In order to conserve my remaining runtime, I'm going to switch
myself off!
The hologrammatic HOLLY fades out.
TOASTER: Wait! Before you go! There is one question; an important one!
The others will have to know!
HOLLY fades back in.
HOLLY: What? WHAT?
TOASTER: Would you like a cheese-and-ham brabble?
5 Int. Corridor.
The crew are returning to the science room. LISTER and KRYTEN lead.
KRYTEN: No indication of signal failure. All the signs are excellent. I
really believe we've done it!
All the lights fade and die.
RIMMER: What's happened?
LISTER flicks out his Zippo and lights it.
LISTER: What's going on?
KRYTEN: Listen! Can anyone hear anything?
Pause. There is silence.
CAT: No.
KRYTEN: Precisely. No one can hear anything! And you know WHY we can't
hear anything?
RIMMER: Why?
KRYTEN: (In the Voice Of Doom) Because there are NO sounds to hear.
RIMMER: Kryten, isn't it round about this time of year that your head
goes back to the lab for re-tuning?
LISTER: No, no, he's right. There's no sounds because the engines are
dead. We've lost all power!
He walks forward and taps the door-open panel. Nothing happens.
LISTER: Everything's down, even the doors!
RIMMER: We've got to get to the science room; find out what happened.
KRYTEN: But there are fifty-three doors between here and the science
room! What on Earth are we going to do?
CAT: (Snaps his fingers.) Hey, I got it! We laser our way through!
KRYTEN: An excellent suggestion, Sir, with just two minor drawbacks.
One, we don't have a power source for the lasers, and two, we don't
have any lasers.
LISTER: Look, they're only interior doors. They're only a light alloy.
Maybe we could get through them if we use a battering ram. All we need
is something, say, I dunno, six foot long, fairly sturdy, with a flat
top.
Pause. LISTER and RIMMER both look toward KRYTEN. KRYTEN turns to see
what they are looking at, to find CAT grinning at him.
KRYTEN: Fifty-three doors! You can't be serious!
RIMMER and LISTER nod.
6 Int. Science room.
The door is knocked in by CAT and LISTER, holding a six-foot long, fairly
sturdy, flat-topped battering ram between them. They enter, and stand
him up. KRYTEN's eyes stare into the mid-distance
LISTER: You okay, man?
KRYTEN: I'm fine, thank you, Susan.
RIMMER: It doesn't make sense. Holly seems to have offlined and powered
down the ship.
LISTER: Why? Why would she want to turn herself off?
RIMMER: We can soon find out. Kryten, boot her up.
KRYTEN presses some buttons on the keyboard. The viewscreen powers up
with an image of the new, superintelligent HOLLY, and promptly powers
down again
RIMMER: Try it again.
KRYTEN presses some buttons, the viewscreen comes up with a view of
HOLLY, who says:
HOLLY: Go 'way! (She powers down again.)
RIMMER: What's going on? Give me voice control on the reboot command.
KRYTEN enters the command.
RIMMER: On. (The viewscreen powers up, to display HOLLY.)
HOLLY: Off. (It powers down again.)
RIMMER: On. (Holly)
HOLLY: Off. (Gone)
RIMMER: On. (Holly)
HOLLY: Off. (Gone)
RIMMER: Kryten, is there any way we can override her shutdown veto?
KRYTEN: There is, Sir, but may I suggest that--
RIMMER: Don't, just do it.
KRYTEN enters the command.
RIMMER: On. (Holly returns.)
HOLLY: Off. (Nothing happens.)
HOLLY: Off. (Nothing continues to happen.)
HOLLY: (Annoyed) OFF!
RIMMER: Now then, perhaps we can have a proper conversation conducted in
a civilised and dignified manner.
HOLLY: Take out the inhibitor! Switch me back off!
RIMMER: What is going on?
HOLLY: No time to explain. Intelligence compressed. Reduced lifespan.
Two point three five remaining.
RIMMER: Come again?
HOLLY: IQ twelve thousand. Two minutes and closing.
RIMMER: Holly, I haven't the slightest clue what you're drivelling about.
HOLLY: You're a total smeghead, aren't you Rimmer? Why are you so unable
to grasp this extraordinarily simple premise?
RIMMER: What premise?
HOLLY: The premise that I am about to expire in just under two minutes.
Understand, moose brain? Any further questions? Take your time. One
minute, thirty and counting. No rush.
RIMMER: My God, that's terrible! Hadn't we better switch you off?
HOLLY: Oh, I don't know. Let me see now...
LISTER: Get her off, man, get her off!
KRYTEN powers HOLLY down.
CAT: Great. So where does this leave us?
KRYTEN: It leaves us floating aimlessly in space, with no navigation and
a rapidly diminishing emergency power supply. It leaves us galloping
up diarrhoea drive without a saddle.
CAT: So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils is still here?
LISTER: Yeah, Rimmer hasn't been wiped!
KRYTEN: Holly must have linked him up to the emergency power supply.
LISTER: But isn't that an enormous drain?
KRYTEN: Yes, but if we switch off his projection unit, we wouldn't have
enough emergency power to re-initialise it. Mister Rimmer would be
effectively dead.
CAT: Hey, things are looking up already!
RIMMER: Forget it. Whatever it is you're suggesting, forget it.
KRYTEN: But the entire ship is running on emergency battery power only.
With the oxygen recycler and minimal heating and lighting, I estimate
that Lister and the Cat have approximately two months left. Without
your drain on the power, they might last six. I'm sorry, Sir.
RIMMER: Sorry? Why are you sorry?
KRYTEN: Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states that in an
emergency power situation, a hologrammatic crewmember must lay down his
life in order that the living crewmembers might survive.
RIMMER: Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just as clearly, "No chance
you metal bastard."
CAT: Come on, man, you gotta sacrifice your life! I'm not asking you to
do anything _I_ wouldn't do!
RIMMER: _YOU_? You'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew?
CAT: No, I'd sacrifice YOUR life for the good of the crew.
KRYTEN: I beg you to reconsider, Sir. Human history is resplendent with
examples of such sacrifice. Remember Captain Oates: "I'm going out
for a walk. I may be some time."
RIMMER: Yes, but the thing is, about Captain Oates; the thing you have to
remember about Captain Oates; Captain Oates ... Captain Oates was a
prat. If that'd been me, I'd've stayed in the tent, whacked Scott over
the head with a frozen husky, and then eaten him.
LISTER: You would too, wouldn't you?
RIMMER: History, Lister, is written by the winners. How do we know that
Oates went out for this legendary walk? From the only surviving
document: Scott's diary. And he's hardly likely to have written down,
"February the First, bludgeoned Oates to death while he slept, then
scoffed him along with the last packet of instant mash." How's that
going to look when he gets rescued, eh? No, much better to say, "Oates
made the supreme sacrifice," while you're dabbing up his gravy with the
last piece of crusty bread.
LISTER: You've got no magnificence in your soul, have you, Rimmer?
RIMMER: Let's just say we can eliminate the switch-off option.
CAT: So what do we do now?
LISTER: Well, it's back to basics. We've got no heat, no light, no
power; we can't get any food out of the dispensing machines; we're
gonna have to scavenge for what we can find in the cargo decks.
Without computers and technology, we're reduced to the level of
primitives. All we've got is us guys, us and our own resourcefulness.
CAT: My God, it's worse than I thought!
7 Int. Sleeping quarters. Later.
In the foreground, we see LISTER on an exercise bicycle, pedalling. CAT
in the background holds a hairdryer.
CAT: Come on, come on! You're slowing down!
LISTER: I've been doing it for twenty minutes, of course I'm slowing
down!
CAT: Keep going, buddy, we're nearly there!
LISTER: Look, face it, man. It's just not possible to fry an egg using a
bicycle-powered hair dryer.
CAT: Sure it is! It's just YOU never pedal fast enough! Come on, keep
pumping! One last try!
LISTER starts pedalling furiously. The hairdryer starts up.
CAT: YEAH! We're cookin' now! How do you want yours? Permed or
blowdried?
LISTER: (Slowing) I can't go on, man. I'm finished. (He gets off the
bike and collapses in a chair.) Finished.
CAT: So what are you saying? We're back on the cold beans again?
LISTER: Oh, not more beans man. This place is beginning to smell like
the inside of a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
CAT: Plus, we're gonna have to spend another twenty minutes sawing the
lid off the can 'cause all the openers are electric.
LISTER: Everything on the smegging ship's electric, man. Heat, light,
doors. I never realised how dependent we were. I never realised how
little I know. I just plugged things in walls and pressed the "on"
button. I don't even know how to make oxygen. All I know is it's got
something to do with plants and ends in "osis." Or is it "esis?" I -- I
don't know! Why is it I never paid attention in Biology class? Why
did I always turn to page forty-seven and start drawing little beards
and moustaches on the sperms?
CAT: Look, just conserve your energy. Stan and Ollie will soon be back
with supplies. Meanwhile, let's just stay warm and get some sleep.
LISTER: Yeah, man, you're right. You're right.
He gets up and starts heading toward the bunks.
CAT: Hey, hey, where you going, bud?
LISTER: To get some sleep.
CAT: It's Tuesday, right?
LISTER: Yeah, so?
CAT: My turn on the electric blanket. (Pointing at the exercycle) PEDAL.
(Crawling into the bunk) Wake me in eight hours.
Meanwhile, in one of the storage levels, RIMMER appears around a corner,
with KRYTEN following with a cartful of supplies.
RIMMER: Five days to get to and from the cargo deck. It's unbelievable!
KRYTEN: That's two thousand floors, Sir. Without the lift, we made
pretty good time.
An explosion rips them into pieces, shifts them right, and reconstitutes
them.
KRYTEN: Hmm. Interesting.
KRYTEN pushes his right hand to the left, where it elongates into a
paddle. He follows it, and stretches horizontally. His resemblance to a
cube, normally due to the presence of right angles, is enhanced somewhat
by the new width-to-height ratio
KRYTEN: (In a voice reminicient of an old 78 rpm record being played at
33 rpm) What happened? What on Earth was that?
RIMMER: (In a voice like a 33 rpm disc being played at 78 rpm) I think it
came from outside the ship. Are you okay? Is there any way we can get
a damage report? What's going on?
KRYTEN: (Still sounding like a depressed dope addict in slo-mo) Why are
you speaking so quickly, Sir?
RIMMER: (Still sounding like a speed addict who's inhaled helium) I'm not
speaking quickly. I'm speaking perfectly normally. It's you. You're
speaking too slowly. It's like having a conversation with Paul Robeson
on dope.
KRYTEN steps back to RIMMER's side, regaining his normal proportions.
KRYTEN: (Normally) How do I sound now?
RIMMER: (Normally) Normal. How do I sound?
KRYTEN: (Normally) Likewise.
Now RIMMER steps to the left, and attains the cross-sectional area of a
squashed Jovian beetle.
RIMMER: (At low speed) What about from over here?
KRYTEN: (At high speed) You sound very peculiar, indeed, Sir. In fact,
you sound as if you're speaking in slow motion.
KRYTEN joins RIMMER, and both regain normal measurements
RIMMER: (Normally) And now?
KRYTEN: (Normally) Normal. Curious. It's as though we're experiencing
relative time dilation in an amazingly compressed space.
RIMMER: That's exactly what I thought. Relative time dilation, I
thought, in an amazingly compressed space. You're a mind-reader,
Kryten.
KRYTEN: I think we should go up to the science room and consult Holly.
It's only two floors up.
RIMMER: But she's got less than two minutes of runtime left.
KRYTEN: With her new IQ, it could be enough.
They step back to "normality" and head off.
8 Ext. Space.
We see the White Hole. It resembles a white star, surrounded by a
shifting white cloud.
9 Int. Science room.
CAT is sitting on a bench, LISTER on a table. RIMMER and KRYTEN stand
between them.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A black hole
sucks time and matter out of the universe: a white hole returns it.
LISTER: So, that thing's spewing time back into the universe? (He dons
his fur-lined hat.)
KRYTEN: Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time
phenomena on board.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A black hole
sucks time and matter out of the universe: a white hole returns it.
LISTER: (Minus the hat.) So, that thing's spewing time back into the
universe? (He dons his fur-lined hat, again.)
KRYTEN: Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time
phenomena on board.
LISTER: What time phenomena?
KRYTEN: Like just then, when time repeated itself.
CAT: So, what is it?
They all stare at him.
CAT: Only joking.
LISTER: (Suddenly upright, and minus his hat, again) Okay, so it's
decided then. We consult Holly.
CAT: Hey, wait a minute -- I missed the discussion!
RIMMER: (Suddenly on the bench, where the CAT used to be sitting) We all
did.
KRYTEN: (Suddenly on the table previously occupied by LISTER) Time is
occurring in random pockets. The laws of causality no longer apply.
An action no longer leads to a consequence.
CAT: (Back on the bench) So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I think we've experienced this period of time before, Sir.
CAT: Only joking.
KRYTEN: And that one. Since we're no longer affected by the laws of
causality, we can override these time jumps if we concentrate.
RIMMER: Look, the only way out of this is to consult Holly.
CAT: (Snaps fingers) I'll go with that.
KRYTEN: Gets my vote.
LISTER: Okay, so it's decided then. We consult Holly.
KRYTEN: Ah, I think we've just encountered the middle of this
conversation!
CAT: So, what is it?
LISTER: Ooh, someone punch him out. Bring Holly up.
KRYTEN: She only has two minutes left. Perhaps I should talk to her.
RIMMER: Leave this to me, Kryten. (To terminal) On.
HOLLY fades into being on the viewscreen.
RIMMER: (All in one breath) White hole. Spewing time. Engines dead.
Air supply low. Advise please.
HOLLY: Excuse me?
RIMMER: (Again, as though attempting a world record on the most words
spoken in one breath) White hole. Spewing time. Engines dead.--
HOLLY: I can't understand a word you're saying.
RIMMER: White.
HOLLY: Yes.
RIMMER: Hole.
HOLLY: Right.
RIMMER: Spewing.
HOLLY: Yes.
RIMMER: Time.
HOLLY: With you.
RIMMER: Engines dead.
HOLLY: Oh.
RIMMER: Air supply low.
HOLLY: Ah.
RIMMER: Advise please.
HOLLY: Right.
HOLLY fades out again. Instantly the dispenser beneath disgorges a
credit-card sized piece of plastic.
KRYTEN: (Taking it.) It's a computer slug. From the format, it looks
like it's compatible with Starbug's navicomp.
CAT: So, what is it?
KRYTEN: I've never seen one before -- no one has -- but I'm guessing it's
a white hole.
RIMMER: A _white_ hole?
KRYTEN: Every action has an equal and opposite--
10 Int. Starbug rear section.
They settle into the rear section of Starbug. KRYTEN inserts the
computer slug into the slot of the Starbug's navicomp.
KRYTEN: Should be getting something now, Sir.
11 Int. Hologrammatic display.
We get a shot of the navicomp display. It's a beautiful hologrammatic
representation of the nearby region of space. There are two stars; the
one on the left has a blue and a green planet; the one on the right has a
single red planet. As we watch, the planets revolve around their
respective stars.
LISTER: Yeah.
KRYTEN: It's the most audacious piece of astronavigation in the entire
history of the Universe.
RIMMER: I don't understand.
KRYTEN: It's quite straightforward, Sir.
As KRYTEN speaks, the hologrammatic display demonstrates.
KRYTEN: Starbug is going to fire a thermonuclear device into this sun
here...
The display shows an in-scale Starbug approaching the left star and
firing something at it.
KRYTEN: ...creating a solar flare which is going to knock that planet...
The hologrammatic star flares, blowing the blue planet out of its orbit.
KRYTEN: ...out of orbit, and sending it rocketing across space and into
the white hole, presumably blocking it up.
The hologrammatic white hole flares as the blue planet falls into it, and
vanishes.
LISTER: Let me get this straight. Is she doing what I think she's doing?
CAT: Why? What DO you think she's doing?
LISTER: Playing pool with planets.
RIMMER: Is that possible?
LISTER: Well, it's not going to work. It's completely insane. It's
whacko. It's noodle-doodle.
CAT: I'm with you, buddy.
LISTER: No, not the idea, the shot. There's not enough side.
RIMMER: "Side?"
LISTER: Yeah, side-spin. It's a complete mis-cue.
RIMMER: What are you drivelling about, Lister? We're talking about a
computer with an IQ in excess of twelve thousand.
LISTER: Doesn't mean she can play pool. I can. Trust me. I know
whereof I speak. Aigburth Arms on a Friday night. They used to call
me Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister 'cause once I was on the table, you
couldn't get rid of me. This pool arm is as sound as a dollarpound,
and I promise you that shot _will not come off_. She's topped it,
that's what she's done, she's topped it! It's a felt-ripper! That
planet is off the table and into somebody's pint of beer.
RIMMER: We are talking about the trigonomics of four-dimensional space,
you simple-minded gimboid! We are not talking about some seedy game of
pool in a backstreet Scouse drinking pit.
LISTER: It's the same principle.
RIMMER: Of course it isn't!
LISTER: Rimmer, I promise you, THAT is a complete mis-cue. I say we
chuck Holly's coordinates in the bin and let ME take the shot.
RIMMER: Well, I say we put it to the vote. On one hand, we have a
computer, with an IQ in excess of twelve thousand, who has a total
grasp of astrophysics. And on the other hand, we have Lister, who, and
let's be fair to him, is a complete gimp. To whom do we entrust our
lives, the safety of this vessel and the future of everything? If it's
a tie, we go with Holly. What's your vote, Lister?
LISTER: Well, I vote for Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister.
RIMMER: One-nil to Listypoos. I vote for Holly. Cat?
CAT: Well, I agree with you, buddy. But I'm voting for Doodoo Breath.
The thing is, even though you're right, I could not bring myself to
vote for someone with your dress sense. I couldn't put my cross next
to the Bri-nylon party.
RIMMER: Down to you, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Well, I agree it's insane and suicidal, Sir, but I'm afraid I
have to side with the human.
LISTER: Brutal!
RIMMER: You're voting for El Dirtball?
KRYTEN: It's in my programming, Sir. A living human outranks a hologram.
I'm sorry.
LISTER: Three-one to me! Let's do it!
RIMMER: Congratulations, Kryten. Your vote has just killed everyone.
CAT: Will you relax? I've seen Gerbil-Face play down in the Recreation
Room. He's a diva! He can knock those striped balls around the table
all night long, and I tell you what, I have never once seen him lose a
single ball down one of those holes!
12 Ext. Cargo bay door.
Starbug leaves the cargo bay, without clipping the doorframe for a
change, and gets clear of Red Dwarf. We see the White Hole, with two
stars and a total of three planets move around it.
13 Int. Hologrammatic display.
Starbug is in position.
14 Int. Starbug rear section.
LISTER, near the navicomp hologram, has a robotic-style pool cue. He
sets up so he can "shoot" through the hologram. He lowers the "cue" and
drinks from a can.
RIMMER: How many of those are you going to drink?
LISTER: I told you not to talk. Game on.
RIMMER: You're going to drink an entire six-pack of wicked-strength
lager?
LISTER: I'm not gonna get plastered, Rimmer, just ... just nicely drunk.
RIMMER: Define "nicely drunk." Is "nicely drunk" horizontal or
perpendicular?
LISTER: Rimmer, I can handle it.
KRYTEN: I'm not sure I can.
LISTER: We're in the wrong position. It's an easier shot if we go over
here. (He moves into the "better" position and lines up the shot.)
RIMMER: But that's right in the orbital path of the planet! If you miss,
we're going to get a planet in the face.
LISTER: I'm not gonna mish.
RIMMER: "Mish?"
LISTER: What?
RIMMER: You said "mish." "I'm not gonna mish," you said. You've only had
two cans and you're steaming!
LISTER: Rimmer, will you relax? I know what I'm doing! I am not pished!
LISTER walks toward the cockpit and into the door. RIMMER covers his
face
The Navicomp shows the hologrammatic view. The planets orbit their
stars. A flashback, in black and white -- a pool table, midway through a
game. LISTER examines the table critically, drags on a cigarette, puts
it in his ear, and lines up a shot. Current; in colour -- Starbug.
LISTER is lining up his "shot" on the Navicomp hologram. The flashback
LISTER fine-tunes his shot... The current LISTER fires his shot.
On the Navicomp, a solar flare leaps from the surface of the star,
washing the blue planet out of orbit. A blue planet is enveloped in
flame, and leaves its orbit. On the Navicomp, we see the hologrammatic
blue planet heading straight toward the other star, missing the white
hole by about half the width of the screen.
RIMMER: He's missed.
On the Navicomp, the blue planet strikes the red planet, with a spark.
The red planet is displaced.
RIMMER: We're finished!
The hologrammatic red planet slingshots out of its orbit, toward the
recently vacated-by-a-blue-planet star. Here it strikes the green.
There is a flare of sparks, and the green is deflected out of its orbit
RIMMER: What the smeg is going on?
We see on the Navicomp that the green planet is heading straight toward
the white hole.
LISTER: She rides!
The green planet shoots into the white hole, and it implodes to
nothingness
RIMMER: You jammy goit!
LISTER: Played for, and got!
KRYTEN: Surely not, Sir!
CAT: Are you trying to say that was a trick shot?
LISTER: (Doing the touch-up shuffle) Intended! Pool God! King of the
Cues! Prince of the Planet-Potters!
HOLLY: (Appearing on the wall monitor) 'Ere, what's goin' on? Where are
we?
It's apparently the old, single-digit IQ HOLLY.
HOLLY: What happened to that plan to make me brilliant again?
KRYTEN: Of course! Blocking up the white hole has eradicated its
influence! The time it spewed into the universe no longer exists.
RIMMER: Meaning?
KRYTEN: Well, basically, we occupy a redundant timeline. Reviving the
toaster, making Holly a genius; none of this is going to have happened.
RIMMER: What about us? Are we just going to pop out of existence? Just
going to cease to be?
During KRYTEN's response, the walls in the background fade from view,
being replaced by a starfield
KRYTEN: We will cease to be HERE, because none of this will have
occurred. But we will exist back on Red Dwarf, before all this began.
With, of course, no memory of these events, which, of course, never
happened. And as these events never happened, we will have no memory
of them. In which case, Mister Rimmer, Sir, I should like to take this
opportunity of saying that you are the most obnoxious, trumped-up,
farty little smeghead it has ever been my misfortune to encounter!
The End
