Categories > TV > Red Dwarf > Cold
Rimmer ran up the hill, slow and off-balance in the knee-deep snow. Behind him, he heard the yelps and growls coming dangerously close. He turned, took careful aim, and brought down the three closest GELF-dogs with three shots from his laser pistol. The GELF-dogs behind those took the dead dogs in front as an easier meal than the two-legged beast running farther uphill, and made three seething lumps of feast where they had fallen.
Rimmer continued up the hill to the rock outcropping he had seen from below; sure enough, there was a small cavelike depression in the jagged overhangs. He sat in the shelter and took stock.
Although he felt hunger and cold, as a hologram, food and warmth were luxuries rather than necessities. Sleep, as well, he could do without in a pinch (although it was still psychologically necessary, if not physically; as part of his post-death orientation, Holly had assured him he would go mad if he went too long without sleep). He had minor injuries, but none affected the integrity of his light-bee. So there was no reason to linger here longer than it took to get his bearings. He opened the com-link disguised as a cufflink on his left wrist.
"Computer?"
"Yes?"
"Can you give my position relative to the nest?"
"Of course I can. Three fwicks north, around an old abandoned lighthouse, two fwicks east, cave on your right. Even you can't miss it."
On his first flight with the computer, he had irritably told her what he thought of her in-love, hero-worship attitude. She dropped it with a rapidity that indicated a certain relief. The other Aces, she explained some time later, requested that persona, claiming that it helped them to stay in character. "What sad gits," Rimmer had commented. "Yes, you are," was her reply.
Her current persona was a bit too close to Holly's for Rimmer's taste, but given the options, he would take it. Unlike Holly, she wasn't in the least bit computer-senile, and accomplished difficult tasks, from ship-piloting to calculations to translations, with enviable ease.
Rimmer disconnected and followed her directions. The rest was a typical job for Ace. He raided the cave of the mutant man-eating insects that was plaguing the nearby towns, all of which happened to be full of simple, honest folk. He fought his way heroically to the queen, narrowly escaping death, and killed her. He dragged the body down to the aforementioned town of simple and honest folk to show them that they were now safe. He was offered a great deal of money, and turned it down in favor of a hearty meal and a bath. He turned away with a chivalrous kiss the bashful maidens who interrupted his sleep to offer sexual favors ranging from the demure to the truly perverted. He left early in the morning, before a parade could be arranged.
And, as he has been doing more and more frequently as time goes on, he wondered what the hell happened to him.
Every Rimmer directive was right out of the window. He cannot imagine how the second technician he used to be ever could have pulled off the feats he now considered routine. Even if he overlooked his new habit of risking his life for what is right and good, he's baffled by how he constantly rejects the praise and money that people attempt to throw at him. And, dear god, the sexual favors that women attempt to throw at him.
They are not throwing themselves at Arnold Judas Rimmer, though. They are throwing themselves at Ace. And he feels that difference keenly, and keeps them at arms' length.
He might have traded "Sad git" in on "Whatta guy!" but he was still living on a borrowed identity, still a slave to the assumptions of others. Ace had been bestowed upon him, and he had no choice but to be Ace, to be handsome, brave, and charming. But that did not change who he was, and he knew that to attempt to show the girls who looked at him with adoring and lustful eyes his telegraph pole photo collection, or to regale them with stories of his stint as the treasurer of the Hammond Organ Appreciation Society, would be to see their admiration turn briefly to confusion, then to boredom and disgust. To be Ace, he had to keep Arn under wraps.
One of the first lessons Rimmer had learned since becoming Ace is the difference between sex and intimacy. And, he is startled to discover, the former is highly overrated. The latter, for as long as he is Ace, is not an option for him.
He sat in the cockpit and drew a deep breath. "Off to the next place of trouble, old girl?"
"You can drop the accent, Arn."
He sighed. "Off to the next sodding backwoods, lickety-split." The ship rose smoothly into the air, took a slow slingshot off of the planet's gravity until it was clear of the atmosphere, and then rocketed away. She was good.
"Time for a break. You're tense. Your 348th incarnation liked a bar in the 49th dimension - it's only a quick hop away."
Rimmer looked out of the cockpit at the sea of stars all around him. It was a view that he once found cold and lonely, but now finds comforting. The stars, as long-lived as he; unjudgemental, shedding their scintillating light with equal beauty on Ace or on Arn. Adrift in an empty sea. "I think I'd like to stay in space for a while." He tapped her console thoughtfully. "You're the only one who can take me without the Ace."
"Suit yourself."
But he recognized it as a lie as soon as it escaped his lips. There was a ship out there with someone who had come to accept him as Arn, telegraph poles, Hammond Organs, abject cowardice and all. True, there were any number of Listers in the dimensions he sailed, but he avoided them with all of the fervor he used to bring to avoiding danger. He had no desire to see a creature with Lister's body who did not know him, brown eyes and ridiculous ponytails with a mind behind that lacked the intimate knowledge of him that Lister, his Lister, had. Dave had seen Rimmer's subconscious, had suffered for his cowardice, and had even undergone Rimmer's abuse of his own body when they swapped. And he had still wrapped a warm hand around Rimmer's light-bee, holding it close to his chest out of kindness. The entirety that was Arnold Judas Rimmer did not disgust him, and Rimmer does not know if Dave is aware of the magnitude of that. When Lister bade Rimmer farewell, his face betrayed actual sadness at Rimmer's departure, as if he wished Arn could stay.
And that moment trapped him, as well. He had been so eager, for all of those years that he was stuck on Red Dwarf and, later, Starbug, to escape. There was nothing for him there, he was sure, only ridicule and the dubious company of a ragtag trio of unprofessional gits. The days, months, years of traded abuse and hopeless longing for something else wore away at him, fraying the edges of his psyche to the point of unraveling. Then, when he finally had everything he had been desiring for so long - a body of his own, respect, courage, a future of adventuring as his lauded Aceness - he looked back on his way out of the door, and saw what he had been ignoring for so long. His desire for what might be had blinded him to what he had; the simple sweetness of complete acceptance.
Rimmer had that dimension programmed into his computer with the keyword, "Home." It was one he would never use, though. If he returned, what did he expect to happen? If he came back to Starbug, ripped off the wig, and told Dave how much he missed him - what, would Dave cry out his love, melt in Rimmer's arms, and kiss him more sweetly and passionately than the endless stream of hero-worshipping girls, for knowing him far more completely than they ever could?
No, he would curse him for a yellow goit who couldn't follow through on his commitments. Rimmer couldn't face letting him down. He had never succeeded in anything in his life; he had to succeed at this.
For Dave.
Rimmer continued up the hill to the rock outcropping he had seen from below; sure enough, there was a small cavelike depression in the jagged overhangs. He sat in the shelter and took stock.
Although he felt hunger and cold, as a hologram, food and warmth were luxuries rather than necessities. Sleep, as well, he could do without in a pinch (although it was still psychologically necessary, if not physically; as part of his post-death orientation, Holly had assured him he would go mad if he went too long without sleep). He had minor injuries, but none affected the integrity of his light-bee. So there was no reason to linger here longer than it took to get his bearings. He opened the com-link disguised as a cufflink on his left wrist.
"Computer?"
"Yes?"
"Can you give my position relative to the nest?"
"Of course I can. Three fwicks north, around an old abandoned lighthouse, two fwicks east, cave on your right. Even you can't miss it."
On his first flight with the computer, he had irritably told her what he thought of her in-love, hero-worship attitude. She dropped it with a rapidity that indicated a certain relief. The other Aces, she explained some time later, requested that persona, claiming that it helped them to stay in character. "What sad gits," Rimmer had commented. "Yes, you are," was her reply.
Her current persona was a bit too close to Holly's for Rimmer's taste, but given the options, he would take it. Unlike Holly, she wasn't in the least bit computer-senile, and accomplished difficult tasks, from ship-piloting to calculations to translations, with enviable ease.
Rimmer disconnected and followed her directions. The rest was a typical job for Ace. He raided the cave of the mutant man-eating insects that was plaguing the nearby towns, all of which happened to be full of simple, honest folk. He fought his way heroically to the queen, narrowly escaping death, and killed her. He dragged the body down to the aforementioned town of simple and honest folk to show them that they were now safe. He was offered a great deal of money, and turned it down in favor of a hearty meal and a bath. He turned away with a chivalrous kiss the bashful maidens who interrupted his sleep to offer sexual favors ranging from the demure to the truly perverted. He left early in the morning, before a parade could be arranged.
And, as he has been doing more and more frequently as time goes on, he wondered what the hell happened to him.
Every Rimmer directive was right out of the window. He cannot imagine how the second technician he used to be ever could have pulled off the feats he now considered routine. Even if he overlooked his new habit of risking his life for what is right and good, he's baffled by how he constantly rejects the praise and money that people attempt to throw at him. And, dear god, the sexual favors that women attempt to throw at him.
They are not throwing themselves at Arnold Judas Rimmer, though. They are throwing themselves at Ace. And he feels that difference keenly, and keeps them at arms' length.
He might have traded "Sad git" in on "Whatta guy!" but he was still living on a borrowed identity, still a slave to the assumptions of others. Ace had been bestowed upon him, and he had no choice but to be Ace, to be handsome, brave, and charming. But that did not change who he was, and he knew that to attempt to show the girls who looked at him with adoring and lustful eyes his telegraph pole photo collection, or to regale them with stories of his stint as the treasurer of the Hammond Organ Appreciation Society, would be to see their admiration turn briefly to confusion, then to boredom and disgust. To be Ace, he had to keep Arn under wraps.
One of the first lessons Rimmer had learned since becoming Ace is the difference between sex and intimacy. And, he is startled to discover, the former is highly overrated. The latter, for as long as he is Ace, is not an option for him.
He sat in the cockpit and drew a deep breath. "Off to the next place of trouble, old girl?"
"You can drop the accent, Arn."
He sighed. "Off to the next sodding backwoods, lickety-split." The ship rose smoothly into the air, took a slow slingshot off of the planet's gravity until it was clear of the atmosphere, and then rocketed away. She was good.
"Time for a break. You're tense. Your 348th incarnation liked a bar in the 49th dimension - it's only a quick hop away."
Rimmer looked out of the cockpit at the sea of stars all around him. It was a view that he once found cold and lonely, but now finds comforting. The stars, as long-lived as he; unjudgemental, shedding their scintillating light with equal beauty on Ace or on Arn. Adrift in an empty sea. "I think I'd like to stay in space for a while." He tapped her console thoughtfully. "You're the only one who can take me without the Ace."
"Suit yourself."
But he recognized it as a lie as soon as it escaped his lips. There was a ship out there with someone who had come to accept him as Arn, telegraph poles, Hammond Organs, abject cowardice and all. True, there were any number of Listers in the dimensions he sailed, but he avoided them with all of the fervor he used to bring to avoiding danger. He had no desire to see a creature with Lister's body who did not know him, brown eyes and ridiculous ponytails with a mind behind that lacked the intimate knowledge of him that Lister, his Lister, had. Dave had seen Rimmer's subconscious, had suffered for his cowardice, and had even undergone Rimmer's abuse of his own body when they swapped. And he had still wrapped a warm hand around Rimmer's light-bee, holding it close to his chest out of kindness. The entirety that was Arnold Judas Rimmer did not disgust him, and Rimmer does not know if Dave is aware of the magnitude of that. When Lister bade Rimmer farewell, his face betrayed actual sadness at Rimmer's departure, as if he wished Arn could stay.
And that moment trapped him, as well. He had been so eager, for all of those years that he was stuck on Red Dwarf and, later, Starbug, to escape. There was nothing for him there, he was sure, only ridicule and the dubious company of a ragtag trio of unprofessional gits. The days, months, years of traded abuse and hopeless longing for something else wore away at him, fraying the edges of his psyche to the point of unraveling. Then, when he finally had everything he had been desiring for so long - a body of his own, respect, courage, a future of adventuring as his lauded Aceness - he looked back on his way out of the door, and saw what he had been ignoring for so long. His desire for what might be had blinded him to what he had; the simple sweetness of complete acceptance.
Rimmer had that dimension programmed into his computer with the keyword, "Home." It was one he would never use, though. If he returned, what did he expect to happen? If he came back to Starbug, ripped off the wig, and told Dave how much he missed him - what, would Dave cry out his love, melt in Rimmer's arms, and kiss him more sweetly and passionately than the endless stream of hero-worshipping girls, for knowing him far more completely than they ever could?
No, he would curse him for a yellow goit who couldn't follow through on his commitments. Rimmer couldn't face letting him down. He had never succeeded in anything in his life; he had to succeed at this.
For Dave.
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