Categories > TV > Red Dwarf > Return
"Ssssho." The GELF's sinuous, yellow-patterned head waved from side to side. Somewhere in his genetic makeup dwelt a slug, a corn snake, and a scorpion; he was slow and nonpoisonous on one end, but had a deadly waving stinger at the other. Slime drizzled out of his pores, leaving a sticky trail wherever he went, forming a bilious puddle when he stayed put. He was, all in all, fairly useless as a spy, but very useful when it came to interrogation. Yes, the beast was a he. For no reason that anyone had been able to determine - and the scientist responsible for this GELF was long-dead - he had a massive penis, permanently erect, with two grey testicles dangling sullenly from it. This made him an even more useful interrogator. "You wanted to conquer the world, eh? We beat you to it, little man."
The dictator drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half feet, which meant, unfortunately for him, that his eyeline met the base of the head of the GELF's erection. "Parlez français, vous idiot!" he snapped.
From his nearby hiding place behind a GELF-shrub, Rimmer frowned. Napoleon did not speak English? He had thought the dictator was smarter than that. Then again, this was a parallel universe - Rimmer glanced at Napoleon's imperial guard, surrounded by various grotesque GELFs (none as grotesque as the interrogator, however). Perhaps this Napoleon wasn't as great as the one he knew from his own dimension. Regardless, Napoleon was Napoleon, in any dimension, and Rimmer was determined to rescue the man.
As the GELF and Napoleon spat at each other in languages the other did not understand, Rimmer crept to the motorbike he had stolen, keeping the throbbing pink tendrils of GELF-shrub between himself and the interrogation. He swung himself up onto the bike as quietly as he could, took a deep breath, and started the machine. He immediately roared through the shrub - which yelped as he tore through it - and shot a few rounds from his laser pistol into the interrogator-GELF. The beast pulled back, its head bending into a perfect question mark.
Rimmer grabbed a startled Napoleon by the arm, and almost tipped the bike trying to haul him up onto it. But realization came rapidly to Napoleon's face, and he struggled up onto the bike behind Rimmer, grabbing the hologram firmly by the hips. Rimmer opened the throttle, the rear wheel spinning slightly before grabbing. They sped off, the interrogator-GELF's stinger tail swishing through the space they had just vacated.
Rimmer had scouted the entrance to the makeshift camp earlier, and now tore towards it. It was guarded by a single GELF with a laser pistol. He fired off five rounds before Rimmer ran him down, two of which smacked into Rimmer's chest, hurting like smeg-all and, in all likelihood, ruining his top. Rimmer sighed. His dry-cleaning bills were /hell/.
"Merci!" Napoleon gasped in his ear, as they whizzed down a dirt road.
"All in a day's work," Rimmer said, grandly. "Name's Ace Rimmer, by the way. We'll have time for explanations when we reach your camp. And, hopefully, some sex."
"Relations sexuelles?" Napoleon asked, his voice incredulous. He scooted back, letting go of Rimmer's hips and grabbing the bike's plastic tail. "Avant le mariage?"
"Just a thought," Rimmer sighed.
Rimmer dropped Napoleon back at his camp. The small human army was terribly grateful - although Napoleon did give him some odd looks. Rimmer was offered food by some rather attractive girls, whose attitude suggested that they would offer themselves as serving-ware, as well - but Rimmer was feeling rather under the weather, and so declined. He marveled, once again, at the fact that he was getting enough sex lately to /turn it down/, now and again.
Rimmer settled back into the pilot's seat of the Dimension Jump ship. He rubbed his aching chest; the holes were not filling in as they should, and were dribbling blue light. "Where next?" he asked the Computer. "Maybe somewhere with warm weather and soft surf? I think I'm coming down with something. I need a break."
"You'll get one, Ace," the Computer said, in her sultry voice. "We need to recruit your successor."
"My what?" Rimmer yipped. "No smegging way! I feel fine!" He straightened up.
"Your light bee has been hit, Ace," she purred. "We're going to a dimension with a recruitable Rimmer. Stand by to jump."
"No, we're not!" Rimmer said. "We're going to a place with a smegging light bee engineer! It's not all that bad..." Rimmer looked down at the pale blue glow. It certainly did not look as bad as the green blaze that the other Rimmer had displayed.
"I know bees, Ace," the computer responded. "Prepare to jump." The stomach-twisting Jump did not help Rimmer's mood.
Rimmer's protests grew weaker as they approached an alternate version of Starbug. He was becoming rapidly weaker, and his chest ached more with every minute. He felt like smeg on a stick. "I'm dying, aren't I?" he asked, nervously, when the Computer notified him that it was time to announce himself to the crew.
"Yes," she said, her voice dripping sex, as it always did. "That's what I told you."
"Pathetic."
Lister shook his head as he sat across the table from Rimmer, opening a can of JMC (TM) lager. Rimmer brushed away the specks of foam that landed on his book. He knew that look in Lister's eyes - Lister was up to something. And Rimmer wanted none of it.
"Whot, too much of a pussy to take this on, eh, Rimmer?" Lister glowered at Rimmer from across the table.
Rimmer sniffed. "I happen to have three things that make me unable to fill this position, miladdio." Rimmer ticked each one off. "A sense of self-preservation, a sense of fashion, and the distinct sense that I am a heterosexual." Satisfied that he had made his point, Rimmer bent back over his book. It was just about the only escapism this lander offered - apart from AR, which Rimmer did not want to touch, after Lister's sexual escapades - and escapism was absolutely necessary.
Lister slammed one leather-gloved hand onto the book. "Smeghead."
Rimmer leapt to his feet, mouth open - then closed it with a snap and took a deep breath, straightening his iridescent green uniform. Visceral response was Lister's territory. Carefully plotted meanness was Rimmer's. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Rimmer," he sniffed.
Lister's mouth quirked. "Yep. I thought you couldn't."
Rimmer frowned at the look of delight that was struggling to move over Lister's face. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that?" he asked, enunciating with precision.
A broad grin spread over Lister's face. "Nothing, man. Nothing." He sat down, putting his boots up on the table, and leaned back.
That grin - it was beyond irritating. Rimmer considered himself a provocateur extraordinaire, but he just could not match the annoyance of that smug, know-all, contagious grin. Titan knows he had tried. "Spit it out, Lister!"
"I had a little bet going on the side with Kryten," Lister said, his grin not slipping. "He thought you would do it. I thought you were too much of a pissant pile of smeg. I guess I won!"
"That's what you think, miladdio," Rimmer snarled. "I'm taking Ace up. Take your bet and shove it up your rectum, sideways." He straightened his uniform and adjusted his H, then stalked out of the midsection, heading for the medibay. Lister thought he knew Rimmer so well, eh? Well, Arnie J. had a surprise or two up his sleeve. He'd show that goit.
The dictator drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half feet, which meant, unfortunately for him, that his eyeline met the base of the head of the GELF's erection. "Parlez français, vous idiot!" he snapped.
From his nearby hiding place behind a GELF-shrub, Rimmer frowned. Napoleon did not speak English? He had thought the dictator was smarter than that. Then again, this was a parallel universe - Rimmer glanced at Napoleon's imperial guard, surrounded by various grotesque GELFs (none as grotesque as the interrogator, however). Perhaps this Napoleon wasn't as great as the one he knew from his own dimension. Regardless, Napoleon was Napoleon, in any dimension, and Rimmer was determined to rescue the man.
As the GELF and Napoleon spat at each other in languages the other did not understand, Rimmer crept to the motorbike he had stolen, keeping the throbbing pink tendrils of GELF-shrub between himself and the interrogation. He swung himself up onto the bike as quietly as he could, took a deep breath, and started the machine. He immediately roared through the shrub - which yelped as he tore through it - and shot a few rounds from his laser pistol into the interrogator-GELF. The beast pulled back, its head bending into a perfect question mark.
Rimmer grabbed a startled Napoleon by the arm, and almost tipped the bike trying to haul him up onto it. But realization came rapidly to Napoleon's face, and he struggled up onto the bike behind Rimmer, grabbing the hologram firmly by the hips. Rimmer opened the throttle, the rear wheel spinning slightly before grabbing. They sped off, the interrogator-GELF's stinger tail swishing through the space they had just vacated.
Rimmer had scouted the entrance to the makeshift camp earlier, and now tore towards it. It was guarded by a single GELF with a laser pistol. He fired off five rounds before Rimmer ran him down, two of which smacked into Rimmer's chest, hurting like smeg-all and, in all likelihood, ruining his top. Rimmer sighed. His dry-cleaning bills were /hell/.
"Merci!" Napoleon gasped in his ear, as they whizzed down a dirt road.
"All in a day's work," Rimmer said, grandly. "Name's Ace Rimmer, by the way. We'll have time for explanations when we reach your camp. And, hopefully, some sex."
"Relations sexuelles?" Napoleon asked, his voice incredulous. He scooted back, letting go of Rimmer's hips and grabbing the bike's plastic tail. "Avant le mariage?"
"Just a thought," Rimmer sighed.
Rimmer dropped Napoleon back at his camp. The small human army was terribly grateful - although Napoleon did give him some odd looks. Rimmer was offered food by some rather attractive girls, whose attitude suggested that they would offer themselves as serving-ware, as well - but Rimmer was feeling rather under the weather, and so declined. He marveled, once again, at the fact that he was getting enough sex lately to /turn it down/, now and again.
Rimmer settled back into the pilot's seat of the Dimension Jump ship. He rubbed his aching chest; the holes were not filling in as they should, and were dribbling blue light. "Where next?" he asked the Computer. "Maybe somewhere with warm weather and soft surf? I think I'm coming down with something. I need a break."
"You'll get one, Ace," the Computer said, in her sultry voice. "We need to recruit your successor."
"My what?" Rimmer yipped. "No smegging way! I feel fine!" He straightened up.
"Your light bee has been hit, Ace," she purred. "We're going to a dimension with a recruitable Rimmer. Stand by to jump."
"No, we're not!" Rimmer said. "We're going to a place with a smegging light bee engineer! It's not all that bad..." Rimmer looked down at the pale blue glow. It certainly did not look as bad as the green blaze that the other Rimmer had displayed.
"I know bees, Ace," the computer responded. "Prepare to jump." The stomach-twisting Jump did not help Rimmer's mood.
Rimmer's protests grew weaker as they approached an alternate version of Starbug. He was becoming rapidly weaker, and his chest ached more with every minute. He felt like smeg on a stick. "I'm dying, aren't I?" he asked, nervously, when the Computer notified him that it was time to announce himself to the crew.
"Yes," she said, her voice dripping sex, as it always did. "That's what I told you."
"Pathetic."
Lister shook his head as he sat across the table from Rimmer, opening a can of JMC (TM) lager. Rimmer brushed away the specks of foam that landed on his book. He knew that look in Lister's eyes - Lister was up to something. And Rimmer wanted none of it.
"Whot, too much of a pussy to take this on, eh, Rimmer?" Lister glowered at Rimmer from across the table.
Rimmer sniffed. "I happen to have three things that make me unable to fill this position, miladdio." Rimmer ticked each one off. "A sense of self-preservation, a sense of fashion, and the distinct sense that I am a heterosexual." Satisfied that he had made his point, Rimmer bent back over his book. It was just about the only escapism this lander offered - apart from AR, which Rimmer did not want to touch, after Lister's sexual escapades - and escapism was absolutely necessary.
Lister slammed one leather-gloved hand onto the book. "Smeghead."
Rimmer leapt to his feet, mouth open - then closed it with a snap and took a deep breath, straightening his iridescent green uniform. Visceral response was Lister's territory. Carefully plotted meanness was Rimmer's. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Rimmer," he sniffed.
Lister's mouth quirked. "Yep. I thought you couldn't."
Rimmer frowned at the look of delight that was struggling to move over Lister's face. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that?" he asked, enunciating with precision.
A broad grin spread over Lister's face. "Nothing, man. Nothing." He sat down, putting his boots up on the table, and leaned back.
That grin - it was beyond irritating. Rimmer considered himself a provocateur extraordinaire, but he just could not match the annoyance of that smug, know-all, contagious grin. Titan knows he had tried. "Spit it out, Lister!"
"I had a little bet going on the side with Kryten," Lister said, his grin not slipping. "He thought you would do it. I thought you were too much of a pissant pile of smeg. I guess I won!"
"That's what you think, miladdio," Rimmer snarled. "I'm taking Ace up. Take your bet and shove it up your rectum, sideways." He straightened his uniform and adjusted his H, then stalked out of the midsection, heading for the medibay. Lister thought he knew Rimmer so well, eh? Well, Arnie J. had a surprise or two up his sleeve. He'd show that goit.
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