Disclaimer: Red Dwarf is created by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor

Summary: Talkie's Tale

Author's Note: Another Take on "White Hole" (4th Season). The first part of the fic is borrowed from part of the first scene of the epiosde "White Hole."

Rating G - Humour







Lister approached the Mechanoid. "Kryten ... whatcha doin, man?"

"I've just repaired the toaster, well I've nearly repaired the toaster."

"Oh no, man dismantle him, you dunno what the li'l bleeder's like!"

"Well I 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 involvin' me, the toaster, the waste dispose and a 14 pound lump hammer."

"That explains why he was down in the garbage hold in 3000 separate pieces."

"And another thing - Howdy doodly do? ... Drives ya spare! I mean what the smeg's Howdy doodly do mean?"

"Just trust me, Sir motives will become clear."

Kryten flicks a switch, the toaster blinks to life.

"Howdy doodly do! Howzit goin'? I'm Talkie, Talkie Toaster, your chirpy breakfast companion! Talkie's the name, toasting's the game. Anyone like any toast?"

Lister peers into the grill.

"I don't ant any toast," Lister indicated Kryten, "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 around 'ere! We want no muffins, no toast, no teacakes, no buns, baps, bagets, or bagels. No croissants, crumpets, pancakes, no potato cakes, and no hot cross buns and definitely no smeggin' flapjacks."

"Ahh so you're a waffle man!"

"See ... ya see what he's like ... He wires me up man, there's no reasonin' with him."

Kryten steps in. "If you'll allow me, Sir, as one mechanical to another, he'll understand me..." He peers into Talkie. "Now ... now you listen here, you will not offer any grilled bread products to *any* member of the crew, and if you do, you will be on the receiving end of a very large polo mallet. Hmph!"

"Can I ask just one question?"

"Of course," Kryten says.

"Would anyone like any toast?"

"Didn't you just hear what I just said?" Kryten asked aghast.

"Yes, but I thought you might've changed your mind in the meantime."

"You see, you see what he's like!"

"We haven't changed our minds!" Kryten exclaims, exasperated.

"No toast!" Lister yells.

"But I'm a toaster. It is my rason d'etre. I toast therefore I am! If you don't what any toast, then why did you repair me, hmm?"

Lister looks at Kryten expectantly as Rimmer and Cat enter the room.

"Would you like any toast?" Talkie askes, excitedly, seeing the newcomers.

"No," Rimmer snaps.

"Do you have any fish?" Cat asks.

"No!" Talkie exclaims, uptight. "Would you like some toast?"

"NO!!!" Lister yells.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Talkie snaps.

"Would anyone like any toast?"


"Would anyone like any toast?"


"Would anyone like any toast?"


"Would anyone like any toast?"


"Would anyone like any toast?"


"We don't want any smegging toast!" Rimmer snaps.

"What about a-"

"No grilled bread products..." Lister warns.

"But everyone likes a waffle."

"Not us. We're against anything of a bready nature," Lister says.

"How about a toasted teacake?"

"What did we just say!"

"It's not just bready, it's slightly currenty too."

"We don't want any!!!!!" Lister yells.

"Fine," Talkie sulks. "Would anyone like any toast?"

Lister screams, in a rage grabs a 14 pound lump hammer and proceeds to bash Talkie to pieces.

Kryten turns away. "Ohh, I can't watch. He may be an annoying little so and so, but he is a mechanoid nonetheless." He takes a peek, grimaces and shuts his eyes tight. "Excuse me while I create a Jackson Pollock."

Rimmer turned to him. "But you don't eat."

"I know. Thank the Silicon Gods Spare Head Three didn't see this ... He couldn't handle it. His head would burst..."

Panting, Lister puts down the hammer. "I'm sorry, man, but I mean do you really want him askin' if you want toast every bloody second for the rest of your lives?"

"Ohh, I know, Mister Lister, Sir, but..."

Talkie's remains begin to glow and a transparent red toaster flies up. "I'm Talkie's Ghost. Would anyone like any toast?"

The crew scream and scream and scream.

"And now he rhymes..." Lister shakes his head in despair.

Many hours later when the hologram, human, cat, mechanoid and computer had stopped screaming, Talkie's form still floats about.

"Oh why, oh why am I still here? Why haven't I passed through the gates of Silicon Heaven?..."

"You really need an answer to that?" Lister asks.

Talkie sighs. "Even Silicon Hell will be better than this place. At least it'll be nice and *toasty!*"

Rimmer smiles as Talkie goes on.,

"Oh why, oh why am I stuck in limbo ... Ohh ... it's because I didn't meet the toast quota ... Ohh ..." A little oil drips form his joints. "But it's not fair! No one here ever wants any toast, not even crepes! They even hate waffles, the evil people! Ohh ..." Talkie sobs. "And now I'm dead and I can't toast ... Ohh what am I to do ... I did the best I could under the circumstances ... I really did ..."

A glow appears above them.

"Be the great Muffin!" Talkie exclaims. "Silicon Zeus!"

The Robot God's voice boomed over the entire ship. "You have been granted passage into Silicon Heaven. You have passed the final test of the Gods, Talkie. You were given impossible circumstances which you handled better than expected and you have earned your place in the Silicon Heavens."

"Ohh ... thank you, Great Silicon Zeus ..." Talkie breaths. "I am truly honoured. Would you like some toast?"

"Uhh, no."

Talkie's from turned. "Lister ..."

The human swallows.

"Killing me was the best thing you could have done."

The King of the Robot Gods addresses the crew. "Lister, if you every get transformed into a cyborg your place in Silicon Heaven is assured."

"Uhh, thanks."

"As is yours, Holly and yours, Kryten."

They both look enlightened.

"And yours, Rimmer."

Arnold looks genuinely surprised.

"Holograms go to Silicon Heaven," the robot Zeus said.

"We do? I mean *I* do?"

"It's not your fault you're a smeg head," the God said.

"What - why you-"

"It isn't wise to argue with the Silicon Gods, Rimmer. They'll send you to Silicon Hades..."

The hologram grunts. "Even that's gotta be better than my life."

Talkie begins to ascend. "So long all, and Lister-"

"No, I don't want any smeggin toast"!

Talkie blinks and flashes before he's accepted into Silicon Heaven.

Lister looks up. "Thank the Gods for that."

"You're welcome." Silicon Zeus' voice.

"I think part of me will miss him," Kryten sobs.

"Are ya spare?!" Lister then looks horrified.

"What is it, Mister Lister, Sir?"

"I feel like some bloody toast!!!!"

* * *

Floating in Silicon Heaven now, even though this is a blissful place for all deceased appliances, calculators, androids and robots alike, Talkie feels lonely.

"Talkie, is that you?"

Talkie turns. "Talkette!"

"Ohh, Talkie, it *is* you!"

"Ohh, Talkette, I thought I'd never see you again since that accident with your owner's bazookoid going off in your direction ... We've so much to catch up on..."

"Ohh, Talkie..."

"Ohh, Talkette ..."

The Toasters' extend there cords around each other, their chassis' close.


"Yes, Talkie?"

"Would you like some toast?"

"Ohh yessssss ..."

Talkie glows. "Ohh I am in Heaven..."




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