RED DWARF Season 4 Episode 4, "White Hole"

1 Toaster View.

The screen hums and crackles with white noise, which clears to a computer



Clears to display:






$#19.99 PLUS TAX

Clears to display:


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!


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


LISTER: You see? You see what he's like?

KRYTEN: (Exasperated) We haven't changed our mind!


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


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.


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


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


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


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.


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


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:


HOLLY's face reappears, with eyes crossed and a goofy expression.


Again, the image explodes, to be replaced by a more normal-looking HOLLY;

but the head seems to waver as though under great stress.


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?


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?


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


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


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:


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


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.


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?


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


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!


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


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


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


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: 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


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


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: Right.

RIMMER: Spewing.



HOLLY: With you.

RIMMER: Engines dead.


RIMMER: Air supply low.


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.


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


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


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


LISTER: I'm not gonna get plastered, Rimmer, just ... just nicely drunk.

RIMMER: Define "nicely drunk." Is "nicely drunk" horizontal or


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?"


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


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


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


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