by Ganymede & Titan
Series IV - White Hole - All scenes
("RED DWARF" THEME)
Hello? Can you hear me?
Oh, no. Of course not.
I haven't engaged your verbal systems.
Kryten, what you doing, man?
I've just repaired the toaster, sir.
Well, I've nearly repaired the toaster.
Oh, no, man! Dismantle him!
You don't know what the little bleeder's like!
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.
- Not this one, this one's mental.
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 400 rounds of toast
every hour, he throws a major wobbler.
- That's what caused the accident in the first place.
- What accident?
The accident involving me, the toaster,
the waste disposal and a 14-pound lump hammer.
That explains why he was down in the
garbage hold in 3,000 separate pieces.
And another thing. He always says "Howdy doodly do".
Drives you spare.
I mean, what the smeg does "Howdy doodly do" mean?
Well, just trust me, sir.
My motives will become clear.
(CHIRPY VOICE) Howdy doodly do!
How's it going? I'm Talkie,
your chirpy breakfast companion.
Talkie's the name, toasting's the game.
Anyone like any toast?
I don't want any toast and he doesn't want any toast.
In fact, no one around here wants any toast.
Not now, not ever. No toast.
- How about a muffin?
- Or muffins! We don't like muffins round 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? He winds
me up, man. There's no reasoning with him!
If you'll allow me, sir. As one
mechanical to another, he'll understand me.
Now, now you listen here. You will not offer any grilled
bread products to any member of the crew.
Now, 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 I thought you might have
changed your mind in the meantime.
You see? You see what he's like?
- We haven't changed our mind!
- No toast!
But I'm a toaster. It is my raison d'étre.
I toast, therefore I am.
- If you don't want any toast, why did you repair me, hmm?
- Yeah, why did you repair him?
He's a guinea pig for a technique called "intelligence compression".
His Al chips were very badly damaged in the accident.
Well, that was no accident.
That was first-degree toastercide!
- Look, just shut your grill!
By re-routing his circuitry and channelling
all his run-time through a single CPU,
I've managed to restore his intelligence,
at the cost of reducing his operational lifespan.
- So, if it works with him, it could work with Holly.
We could restore her IQ of 6,000.
She could be brilliant again.
You really think this could work? You really think
that airhead of a computer can become a genius again?
Well, with no disrespect to Holly, sir,
it could hardly make her worse.
Right. If we can just teach her to count without banging
her head on the screen, it's gonna be an improvement.
Computer senility - it's such a weird condition.
I know. I had a mechanoid friend once who suffered
from the same affliction. His name was Gilbert,
but he preferred if people called him 'Rameses Niblick Ill
Kerplunk Kerplunk Whoops Where's My Thribble'?
- A sad case.
- 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.
And that's how the Eskimos cared for their old people?
Absolutely. That's why
there's no Eskimo word for "Eastbourne".
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...
If Earth still exists. And if it does, it's
very doubtful the human race will have survived.
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.
Well, it'll be the 19th century for me.
One of Napoleon's marshals.
The chance to march across Europe with
the greatest general of all time and kill Belgians.
- What about you, Kryters?
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.
- Don't you remember?
I did all the laundry and then we watched TV.
Wow, we won't see the like
of those sort of days again.
- How long now?
- Nearly there, Hol.
Just a couple of minutes to load the circuits, and
I dunno, maybe a minute to finalise the connection.
(BANG, BANG, BANG)
That's 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.
- Well, let's just hope you don't get an overload.
- What happens if I do get an overload?
- You'll explode.
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. Any question, and I'll answer it.
- Any question?
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?
- OK, here's my question...
Would you like some toast?
No, thank you. Now ask me another.
Do you know anything about the use of
chaos theory in predicting weather cycles?
I know everything there is to know about
chaos theory in predicting weather cycles.
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 the sinews of 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 me 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 and level out at 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, it's 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! 3.41 minutes!
Well, here's my next question -
what the smeg are you going to do?!
In order to conserve my remaining
run-time, I'm going to... switch myself off!
Wait! Before you go, there is one question,
an important one the others will have to know!
- What, what?!
- Would you like a cheese and ham Breville?
No indication of signal failure.
All the signs are excellent.
I really believe we've done it.
(ENGINES FALL SILENT)
- What's happened?
- What's going on?
Listen. Can anyone hear anything?
- Precisely. No one can hear anything.
- And you know why we can't hear anything?
Because there are no sounds to hear.
Kryten, isn't it around about this time of year
that your head goes back to the lab 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, find out what's happened.
There are 53 doors between here and the Science Room.
What on earth are we going to do?
Hey, I got it. We laser our way through!
Ah! 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.
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.
53 doors?! You can't be serious!
- You OK, man?
- I'm fine, thank you, Susan.
It doesn't make sense. Holly's seems to
have off-lined and powered down the ship.
Why? Why would she want to turn herself off?
We can soon find out.
Kryten, boot her up.
Try it again.
What's going on?
Give me voice control on the reboot command.
Kryten, is there any way can
we override her shutdown veto?
- There is sir, but may I suggest that...
- Don't, just do it.
- Off. Off... OFF!
Now then, perhaps we can have a proper conversation
conducted in a civilised and dignified manner.
- Take out the inhibitor! Switch me back 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, I haven't the slightest
clue what you are drivelling about.
You're a total smeghead,
aren't you, Rimmer?
Why are you so unable to grasp
this extraordinarily simple premise?
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.
- My God, that's terrible! Hadn't we better switch you off?
- Oh, I don't know, let me see, now...
Get her off, man! Get her off!
- Great. So where does this leave us?
- 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.
So how come
Grand Canyon Nostrils is still here?
Yeah, Rimmer hasn't been wiped.
Holly must have linked him up
to the emergency power supply.
- But isn't that an enormous drain?
- Yes, but if we switch off his projection unit
we wouldn't have enough emergency power
to re-initialise him.
Mr Rimmer would be effectively dead.
Hey, things are looking up already!
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 are you sorry?
Well, the Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states
that in an emergency power situation,
a hologrammatic crew member must lay down his life
in order that the living crew members might 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 do.
You? 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, 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."
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've been me,
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 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 1st, 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.
You've got no magnificence
in your soul, have you Rimmer?
Let's just say we can eliminate the switch-off option.
- So what do we do now?
- 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.
Alls we've got is us, guys.
Us and our own resourcefulness.
My God. It's worse than I thought.
Come on, come on! You're slowing down!
I've been doing it for 20 minutes.
Of course I'm slowing down!
- Keep going, buddy. We're nearly there.
- Look, face it man,
It's just not possible to fry an egg
using a bicycle-powered hairdryer.
Sure it is! It's just you never pedal fast enough.
Now 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 what are you saying?
We're back on the cold beans again?
Oh, not more beans, man.
This place is beginning to smell like the
inside of a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
Plus, we're going to have to spend another 20 minutes sawing
the lid off the can '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 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, alls I know is
it's something to do with plants and it ends in "osis".
Or is it "esis"? I don't know!
Why did I never pay attention in biology class?
Why did I always turn to page 47 and start drawing
little beards and moustaches on the sperms?
Look, just 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, you're right.
- Hey hey! Where you going, bud?
- To get some sleep.
- It's Tuesday, right?
My turn on the electric blanket. Pedal.
Wake me in eight hours.
Five days to get to and from the cargo deck.
That's 2,000 floors, sir.
Without the lifts, we made pretty good time.