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Red Dwarf 04x04 - White Hole

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Hello? Can you hear me?
Oh, no. Of course not. I haven't engaged your verbal systems.
Kryten.
- Kryten, what you doing? - I've repaired the toaster. Well, nearly.
Oh, no! Dismantle him! You don't know what he's like!
I've read the documentation, sir. He's simply a talking alarm clock
who provides morning toast and light conversation.
- Not this one. This one's mental. - Sir?
He's defective. He wants everyone to eat toast all of the time. He's obsessed.
If you don't want 400 rounds of toast every hour, he throws a wobbler.
- That's what caused the accident. - What accident?
The accident involving me, the toaster, the waste disposal and a 14lb lump hammer.
That's why he was in the garbage hold in 3,000 pieces.
Another thing. He always says "Howdy doodly do".
Drives you spare. What the smeg does "Howdy doodly do" mean?
Well, just trust me, sir. My motives will become clear.
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?
I don't want any toast. He doesn't want any toast.
No one around here wants any toast. Not now, not ever. No toast.
- How about a muffin? - Or muffins! We don't like muffins 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 smeggin' flapjacks!
Ah, so you're a waffle man!
See? You see what he's like? There's no reasoning with him.
Allow me, sir. As one mechanical to another, he'll understand me.
Now, listen. 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!
- Can I ask just one question? - Of course.
Would anyone like any toast?
Didn't you hear what I just said?
- Yes, but you might have changed your mind, - You see what he's like?
- We haven't changed our mind! - No toast!
But I'm a toaster, It is my raison d'etre, I toast, therefore I am,
- If you don't want toast, why repair me? - Yeah, why?
He's a guinea pig for "intelligence compression".
His Al chips were badly damaged in the accident.
That was no accident, That was first-degree toastercide!
- Just shut your grill! - Ow!
By re-routing his circuitry and channelling all his run-time through a single CPU,
I've restored his intelligence, at the cost of reducing his operational lifespan.
- So? - So, it could work with Holly.
We could restore her IQ of 6,000. She could be brilliant again.
You really think that airhead of a computer can become a genius again?
Well, it could hardly make her worse.
Right. If she counts without banging her head on the screen, it'll be an improvement.
Computer senility - such a weird condition.
I know. I had a mechanoid friend with the same affliction. His name was Gilbert,
but he preferred Rameses Niblick III Kerplunk Kerplunk Whoops Where's My Thribble?
- A sad case. - The Eskimos had the right idea.
They knew how to handle the elderly and permanently baffled.
Middle of the night, they'd take them into the blizzard, remove their pyjamas
and leave them to it.
That's how the Eskimos cared for old people?
Absolutely. That's why there's no Eskimo word for "Eastbourne".
If Holly gets her brains back, she'll be able to do anything -
invent a hyperdrive, get back to Earth...
If Earth still exists. If it does, it's doubtful the human race survived.
All right, a time machine. We could all pick whatever period we wanted to live in.
Well, it'll be the 19th century for me. One of Napoleon's marshals.
The chance to cross Europe with the greatest general of all time and kill Belgians.
- Marvellous. - What about you, Kryters?
Well, if I could go absolutely anywhere at all in time,
I think I'd probably choose a week last Tuesday.
- Why? - Don't you remember?
I did all the laundry and then we watched TV.
We won't see the like of those days again.
- How long now? - Nearly there, Hol.
A couple of minutes to load the circuits, maybe a minute to finalise the connection.
Just three minutes, then? Better get down to the science room.
We'd better pray to God this works.
That ion storm has really done her head in, man,
- There's the signal. Everything's set. - Let's hope you don't get an overload,
- What if I do? - You'll explode,
I'll live.
It's coming. I can feel it.
Strike a light! I'm a genius again!
I know everything! Metaphysics, philosophy, the purpose of being - everything!
- Ask me any question. I'll answer it. - Any question?
- Yes. - How to break the speed of light?
Any question at all and you will answer?
- Yes. - OK, here's my question...
Would you like some toast?
No, thank you. Now ask me another.
Do you know anything about chaos theory?
I know everything about chaos theory.
Oh, very well, Here's my second question...
Would you like a crumpet?
I'm a computer with a IQ of 12,000.
You don't seem to understand - I know the meaning of the universe.
- That is not answering my question, - No, I would not like a crumpet!
Ask me a sensible question. Preferably one that isn't bread-related.
Very well, I have a third question,
A sensible question, A question that will tax your new IQ to its very limits
and stretch your knowledge to bursting point,
This is going to be about waffles, isn't it?
Certainly not, And I resent the implication
that I'm a one-dimensional, bread-obsessed electrical appliance,
I apologise, toaster. What's the question?
The question is this - given that God is infinite,
and that the universe is also infinite,
would you like a toasted teacake?
That's another bready question.
It's not just bready, It's quite curranty, too,
Ask a question that is wholly unbready and not even slightly curranty.
OK, Why have you got an IQ of 12,000 when it was supposed to return to six?
Good question! There was a miscalculation.
My IQ has doubled, but my life expectancy has been exponentially reduced.
So what is your life expectancy? 345 years? Well, better than a kick in the bread tray,
- Missed the decimal point... - You have only 3,41 years left to live?
That's not years. That's minutes!
Here's my next question - what the smeg will you do?!
To conserve my run-time, I'm going to switch myself off.
Wait! There is one question the others will have to know!
- What? - Would you like a cheese and ham Breville?
No indication of signal failure. All signs are excellent.
I really believe we've done it.
- What's happened? - What's going on?
Listen. Can anyone hear anything?
- No. - Precisely. No one can hear anything.
- And you know why we can't hear anything? - Why?
Because there are no sounds to hear.
Kryten, isn't it this time of year that your head goes for re-tuning?
No, no, he's right. There's no sounds because the engines are dead.
We've lost all power!
Everything's down, man, even the doors!
We've got to get to the science room.
There are 53 doors between here and there. What are we going to do?
Hey, I got it. We laser our way through!
An excellent suggestion, sir, with just two minor drawbacks.
One - there's no power source for the lasers.
And two - we don't have any lasers.
Look, they're only interior doors. They're only a light alloy.
Maybe we could get through with a battering ram.
All we need is something, say, six foot long, fairly sturdy, with a flat top.
53 doors?! You can't be serious!
- You OK, man? - I'm fine, thank you, Susan.
It doesn't make sense. Holly's off-lined and powered down the ship.
Why? Why would she turn herself off?
We can soon find out. Kryten, boot her up.
Try it again.
Go away!
What's going on? Give me voice control on the reboot command.
- On. - Off.
- On. - Off.
- On. - Off.
Kryten, can we override her shutdown veto?
- Yes, but may I suggest that... - Don't, just do it.
- On. - Off. Off. OFF!
Now, perhaps we can have a proper conversation conducted in a civilised manner.
- Take out the inhibitor! Switch me off! - What is going on?
No time to explain. Intelligence compressed. Reduced lifespan. 2.35 remaining.
- Come again? - IQ 12,000. Two minutes and closing.
Holly, what are you drivelling about?
You're a total smeghead, aren't you, Rimmer?
Why are you so unable to grasp this extraordinarily simple premise?
- What premise? - I will expire in just under two minutes.
Understand, moose brain? Any further questions? Take your time.
One minute thirty and counting. No rush.
- God! Shouldn't we switch you off? - Oh, let me see...
Get her off, man! Get her off!
- Great. Where does this leave 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.
So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils is still here?
- Yeah, Rimmer hasn't been wiped. - He must be linked to emergency power.
- But isn't that an enormous drain? - Yes, but if we switch him off,
we wouldn't have enough emergency power to re-initialise him.
Mr Rimmer would be effectively dead.
Hey, things are looking up already!
Forget it. Whatever it is you're suggesting, forget it.
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.
Sorry? Why?
Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states that in an emergency power situation,
a hologrammatic crew member must lay down his life so that living crew members survive.
Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just as clearly, "No chance, you metal bastard. "
Come on, man! You gotta sacrifice your life! I'm not asking you to do anything I wouldn't.
You'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew?
No, I'd sacrifice YOUR life for the good of the crew.
I beg you to reconsider. Human history is resplendent with examples of such sacrifice.
Remember Captain Oates? "I'm going out for a walk. I may be some time. "
Yes, but the thing is about Captain Oates...
The thing you have to remember about Captain Oates... Captain Oates...
Captain Oates was a prat. I'd have stayed in the tent,
whacked Scott over the head with a frozen husky... and then eaten him.
- You would, wouldn't you? - History, Lister, is written by the winners.
How do we know Oates took this legendary walk?
From the only surviving document - Scott's diary.
He was hardly likely to write, "February 1st, bludgeoned Oates while he slept,
"then scoffed him along with the last packet of instant mash. "
How's that going to look, eh? No, much better to say, "Oates made the supreme sacrifice,"
while you're dabbing up his gravy with crusty bread.
You've got no magnificence in your soul, Rimmer.
We can eliminate the switch-off option.
- So what now? - Well, it's back to basics.
No heat, no light, no power. We can't get food out of the dispensing machines.
We'll have to scavenge in the cargo decks.
Without computers and technology, we're reduced to primitives.
All we've got is us, guys. Us and our own resourcefulness.
My God. It's worse than I thought.
Come on! You're slowing down!
I've been going 20 minutes. Of course I'm slowing down!
- Keep going. We're nearly there. - Face it, man.
It's just not possible to fry an egg using a bicycle-powered hairdryer.
Sure it is! You just never pedal fast enough. Come on! Keep pumping! One last try!
Yeah! We're cookin' now!
How do you want yours? Permed or blow-dried?
I can't go on, man. I'm finished. Finished.
So we're back on the cold beans again? Oh, not more beans, man.
It smells like the inside of a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
Plus, it's 20 minutes sawing the lid off 'cause all the openers are electric.
Everything on the smeggin' ship's electric, man -
heat, lights, doors.
I never realised how dependent we were. I just plugged things in and pressed "on".
I don't even know how to make oxygen, just that it ends in "osis".
Or is it "esis"? I don't know! Why did I never pay attention in biology?
Why did I always turn to page 47 and draw little beards on the sperms?
Look, conserve your energy. Stan and Ollie will soon be back with supplies.
Meanwhile, let's just stay warm and get some sleep.
- Yeah, man. You're right. - Hey, where you going, bud?
- To get some sleep. - It's Tuesday, right?
Yeah. So?
My turn on the electric blanket. Pedal.
Wake me in eight hours.
Five days to get to and from the cargo deck. Unbelievable!
That's 2,000 floors, sir. Without the lifts, we made pretty good time.
Hmm... Interesting.
My heavens! What on earth was that?
It came from outside the ship. Can we get a damage report? What's going on?
Why are you speaking so quickly, sir?
I'm not speaking quickly. It's you. You're speaking too slowly.
It's like talking to Paul Robeson on dope.
- How do I sound now? - Normal. How do I sound?
Likewise.
What about now? You sound very peculiar,
as if you're speaking in slow motion.
- And now? - Normal. Curious.
It's like experiencing relative time dilation in an amazingly compressed space.
That's exactly what I thought. Relative time dilation. You're a mind-reader, Kryten.
We should go to the science room and consult Holly. It's only two floors up.
She's got two minutes of run-time left.
With her new IQ, it could be enough.
- What is it? - I've never seen one, no one has,
- but I'm guessing it's a white hole. - A white hole?
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
A black hole sucks time and matter out of the universe. A white hole returns it.
So that thing's spewing time back into the universe?
Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time phenomena on board.
- What is it? - I've never seen one, no one has,
- but I'm guessing it's a white hole. - A white hole?
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
A black hole sucks time and matter out of the universe. A white hole returns it.
So that thing's spewing time back into the universe?
Precisely. That's why we're experiencing these curious time phenomena on board.
- What time phenomena? - Like just then, when time repeated itself.
So, what is it?
Only joking.
OK, so it's decided, then. We consult Holly.
Hey, wait a minute. I missed the discussion!
- We all did. - Time is occurring in random pockets.
The laws of causality no longer apply.
- Action no longer leads to consequence. - So, what is it?
We've experienced this period of time before.
- Only joking. - And that one.
Since we're no longer affected by laws of causality,
we can override these time jumps if we concentrate.
- Look, we have to consult Holly. - I'll go with that.
- Gets my vote. - OK, so it's decided. We consult Holly.
Ah, we've just encountered the middle of this conversation.
- So, what is it? - Someone punch him out. Boot Holly up.
Perhaps I should talk to her.
Leave this to me, Kryten. On. White hole. Spewing time.
- Engines dead. Air supply low. Advice. - Excuse me?
- White hole. Spewing time... - I can't understand you.
- White. Hole. - Yes. Right.
- Spewing. Time. - Yes. With you.
- Engines dead. Air supply low. - Oh. Ah.
- Advice, please. - Right.
It's a computer slug. It looks like it's compatible with Starbug's navicomp.
- What is it? - I've never seen one, no one has,
- but I'm guessing it's a white hole. - A white hole?
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction...
- We should be getting something now, sir. - Yeah.
The most audacious piece of astronavigation in the history of the universe.
- I don't understand. - It's quite straightforward, sir.
Starbug is going to fire a thermonuclear device into this sun here,
creating a solar flare which will knock that planet out of orbit
and send it rocketing across space into a white hole, blocking it up.
Is she doing what I think she's doing?
- What do you think she's doing? - Playing pool with planets.
- Is that possible? - Well, it won't work. It's insane.
It's whacko. It's noodle-doodle.
- I'm with you, buddy. - Not the idea, the shot. Not enough side.
- Side? - Yeah, side-spin. It's a complete miscue.
What are you drivelling about? We're talking about a computer with an IQ of 12,000.
Doesn't mean she can play pool. I can. Trust me.
I know whereof I speak. They called me Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister -
once I was on the table, you couldn't shift me.
This pool arm is as sound as a dollarpound. That shot will not come off.
She's topped it. It's a felt-ripper.
That planet is off the table and into somebody's pint of beer.
We are talking about the trigonomics of four-dimensional space, you gimboid!
We are not talking about some seedy game of pool in a backstreet Scouse drinking pit.
- It's the same principle. - Of course it isn't.
I promise you, that is a complete miscue.
- I say we let me take the shot. - Well, I say we put it to the vote.
On one hand, we have a computer with an IQ in excess of 12,000,
who has a total grasp of astrophysics.
And on the other hand, we have Lister, who - 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. Lister?
Well, I vote for Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister.
- One-nil. I vote for Holly. Cat? - Well, I agree with you, buddy,
but I'm voting for Doodoo-Breath.
See, even though you're right, I couldn't vote for someone with your dress sense.
I couldn't put my cross next to the bri-nylon party.
- Down to you, Kryten. - It's insane and suicidal, sir,
but I have to side with the human.
- Brutal! - You're voting for El Dirtball?
- It's in my programming, sir. - A living human outranks a hologram.
- I'm sorry. - Three-one to me! Let's do it!
Congratulations, Kryten. Your vote has just killed everyone.
Will you relax? I've seen Gerbil-Face play down in the recreation room. He's a diva!
He can knock those balls around all night long,
and I have never once seen him lose a single ball down one of those holes!
- How much are you going to drink? - Don't talk. Game on.
You're going to drink an entire six-pack of "wicked strength" lager?
I'm not gonna get plastered, Rimmer, just... just nicely drunk.
Define "nicely drunk". Is that horizontal or perpendicular?
- I can handle it. - I'm not sure I can.
We're in the wrong position. It's easier from over here.
That's right in the path of the planet! If you miss, we get a planet in the face.
- I'm not gonna mish. - "Mish"?
- What? - You said "mish". "I'm not gonna mish. "
- Two cans and you're steaming! - Rimmer, relax.
I know what I'm doing. I am not pished.
He's missed.
We're finished.
What the smeg is going on?!
She rides!
- You jammy goit! - Played for and got!
- Surely not, sir. - Are you saying that was a trick shot?
Intended! Pool god! King of the cues! Prince of the planet-potters!
'Ere, what's goin' on? What happened to that plan to make me brilliant again?
Of course. Blocking up the white hole has eradicated its influence.
The time it spewed into the universe no longer exists.
- Meaning? - Basically, we occupy a redundant timeline.
Reviving the toaster, making Holly a genius - none of this will have happened.
What about us? Are we just going to cease to be?
We'll cease to be here,
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'll have no memory of them.
In which case, Mr Rimmer, 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!
# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere
# I'm all alone, more or less
# Let me fly far away from here
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose
# Drinking fresh mango juice
# Goldfish shoals nibbling at my toes
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun #
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