RED DWARF Season VI Episode 4: White Hole

(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:   (off) Kryten.

(Lister enters the science room)

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.  (He addresses 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.

(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.

(Back in the 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?

(The scene shifts to a 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:   (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 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)

(Later, in the 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!

(... and then 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, who says:)

HOLLY:    Off.

(... and powers down again)

RIMMER:   On.
HOLLY:    Off.
RIMMER:   On.
HOLLY:    Off.
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:    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!

(Much later, in the sleeping quarters; 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.  (He points 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:   [Imagine an old 78 rpm record being played at 33 rpm.  That's
          what he sounds like]  What happened?  What on Earth was that?
RIMMER:   [Now imagine the 33 rpm disc being played at 78 rpm.  That's
          what Rimmer sounds like]  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)

(In space, we see the White Hole.  It resembles a white star, surrounded by
a shifting white cloud)

(In the 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 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...

(They move to 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.

(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!

(Starbug leaves the cargo bay, without clipping the doorframe [for the
first time?]  It gets clear of Red Dwarf.  We see the White Hole, with two
stars and a total of three planets move around it; cut to the hologrammatic
version.  Starbug is in position.  Cut to the interior of the Starbug rear
section, near the navicomp hologram.  Lister has a robotic-style pool cue,
set 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:    'Ere, what's goin' on?  Where are we?

(She has just appeared on the wall monitor.  It's 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!

(Roll credits.  Cast:

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