RED DWARF Season IV Episode 4, "White Hole"

�� RED DWARF Season IV Episode 4, "White Hole"

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

�� Cast:
�� Chris Barrie� Rimmer
�� Craig Charles� Lister
�� Robert Llewellyn� Kryten
�� Hatty Hayridge� Holly
�� Danny John-Jules� Cat
�� David Ross� Talkie Toaster
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