FicWad

Red Dwarf Fanfic: Last Humans

Chapter 2 : Cat

Summary: Wherein Lister gets his wrist broken, Kochanski eats a space weevil and Rimmer saves the day.

Warnings: Violence, brief nudity

Beta: Roadstergal, Rack

Chapter Rating: T(PG-13)

(ooo)

Cat

(ooo)

//Ship Serial No: Red Dwarf JMC66350

//Ship’s Time: 6:59-05.24-002.343

//AI-Holly-Executive: PROBABILITY OF MAKING EUROPA DROP REMOTE

//AI-Holly-Executive: HOLLISTER STILL A GIT.

The seven-oh-clock klaxon sounded. Lister jerked up, half sitting before he was fully awake.

"Smeg."

He fell back flat and buried his head under his pillow. He tried to go back to sleep, tried to ignore the klaxon. But there was something else happening–a sort of rhythmic tremor rocking the bunk.

He threw his pillow off and sat up, looking down.

Rimmer's face, eyes closed, skin slick with sweat, appeared and disappeared at the foot end of his bunk.

"What yeh doin‘, mate?" Lister asked, pulling his legs to his chest.

"He's doin' pull-ups, Dave." Holly replied from where he lay, nestled in a fold of blanket, by Lister's foot.

Lister caught Holly up, strapping him to his wrist. "Nice to have you back, Hol."

"Nice to be back, Dave." Holly stared out at Dave, his expression flat.

"Where am I at, Holly?" Rimmer asked, eyes still closed.

"Twenty four, Arnold."

"Right." He gritted his teeth and forced himself up one more time, body shaking with the effort. Then he let go and stepped back, breathing hard. "Twenty-five it is."

"What are yeh doing, man?" Lister asked.

"Exercising." Rimmer replied, folding backwards onto the floor. He began sit-ups.

Holly counted in time to Rimmer's reps.

"Yeh've never exercised like this." Lister protested. "I mean you kept yerself fit, yeah. But yeh did ponce things like…" He grimaced, thinking. "Like bicycling and jogging and them things where you wave your arms in the air and jump—"

"Calisthenics?" Holly supplied.

"Yeah, them Cally-esthics. And racquet ball." Lister stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Toff crap you thought would help yeh network and get up the ziggurat lickety-split, like."

"I… did…do…" Rimmer countered in between sit ups and breaths.

"He did, Dave. He's been up since five thirty. Did a half hour of runnin' in place, then fifteen minutes of sprawls, another fifteen of this crawlin' about business that I didn't quite follow the point of—"

Rimmer stopped, arms over his knees. "Leopard crawl, Holly." He sprang back, resuming his sit ups.

"Right." Holly rolled his eyes. "I think he's gone mad, meself." He paused, brow creased. "Well, mad-er. Em. More insane."

"I get yeh, Hol." Lister lay down on his stomach, watching as Rimmer pulled himself over onto his chest, pausing for a breath.

"What's my count?" he demanded from the floor.

"Seventy-five, Arnold."

Rimmer grimaced, "What a flabby git." He propped himself on his arms and started push-ups.

"Eh! Eh!" Lister hopped down from his bunk. "You’re gonna hurt your arm doin' that!"

Rimmer ignored him. Lister watched as the man blazed through a couple dozen knuckle sit ups, then upped the ante by putting his injured arm behind his back and continuing one-handed.

Lister chewed one of his plaits. Rimmer's muscles strained, his veins popping, as sweat slid down his skin. Lister had never seen him push himself that hard, and watching the smeghead, his face flushed red, mouth open and moist, his whole body heaving like some great animal—

"Stop staring at me, Listy." Rimmer had stopped. He looked up.

"I ain't starin'!" Lister protested, looking away before Rimmer could meet his gaze. "I'm jus' wonderin' why you’re… acting so..." He trailed off, blushing.

Rimmer stood up, "I should be asking you why you're acting like a complete wolly-woofter." He walked over to the sink, splashed water on his face and picked up his tooth brush. "But then, I suppose you always did."

"Smeg off," Lister replied, half-heartedly, and stepped over to where he'd left his jumper on the floor. He picked it up, sniffing the pits to see if it was too rank to wear.

Rimmer, mouth full of toothpaste, leveled a look of disgust at him. He turned back to the sink to spit it out. "Listy, you're going to be the first man ever to get blood-poisoning from his own undershirt."

Lister screwed his features up at Rimmer's back, pulling his locks into a twist. "What do you care?"

Rimmer stepped over to the dressing closet. He pulled out a jumper on a hanger, its sides carefully pleated, and inspected it for creases. Satisfied, he pulled it off and stepped into it. "I don't care. Except that I'm sure they'd just leave your carcass here." Rimmer sniffed. "After a few days, I'm sure even a decomposing corpse should smell worse then you do now." He knelt to strap on his boots.

"Ha ha," Lister snarked, slipping into his jumper. It'd been a little scratty, but passable.

The guard slammed the butt of his rifle into their cell grating. Lister jumped. Rimmer half-crouched.

"You two do like to dawdle, don't you?" the guard sneered.

(ooo)

Lister slid his breakfast tray down beside Kochanski. She didn't look up, her hair shielding her face.

"Kris, just bolt it," Lister advised, sitting down. "Don't even taste it."

"I tried that. I just got back from the washroom." She pulled back her hair and swallowed.

"Look. It's not tha' bad, really." Lister smiled, picking up his own roast weevil. "Tastes a bit like king prawn, it does." He stripped off the chitin and took a small bite, nodding. "A little more sandpapery texture… and definitely slightly…" He smacked his lips. Kochanski watched him in horror. "Definitely more tart. Cheeky."

"Gah," she said, turning back to her own plate.

"Just eat it, you daft bird." Rimmer slammed his tray down on the other side of Kochanski.

She glared at him.

He picked up his weevil, shoving it towards Kochanski. "By the looks of things," he glanced pointedly at her chest, "I'd be careful of floor gratings if I were you." He brought the weevil back in front of himself, lifting his chin and watching it down his nose. "Probably some cunning escape plan." He stripped the weevil and took a good chomp. "Going to fold in half and slip yourself under the prison door?"

"I… never…" Kochanski sputtered, drawing herself up. "You…"

"No one will blame you for not being able to hack it in the men's mess hall." Rimmer grinned.

"You… you—" Kochanski picked up her weevil and took a bite out of it, chitin exoskeleton and all. She chewed hard, the weevil crunched. She stopped, her eyes tearing.

Rimmer smarmed, chewing his own weevil with relish.

She chewed again. And again. And swallowed. Coughing and gagging a bit, Kochanski picked up her cup of water and took a gulp. "You're a bastard." She gasped.

"Yes I am." Rimmer sipped his own water. "But a bastard that can handle my weevil."

"And to think—" Kochanski leaned against the table, her head bowed, holding her cup of water like it was a life-line. "To think I defended you against him." She glared at Lister.

"Defended?" Rimmer glanced at Lister.

Kochanski took another bit of weevil, anger and nausea fighting over her features. "Yes. He—"

Lister poked her in the side. "Maybe we should let that be for now, Kris." Lister stared at her. "Might not be a good idea to disturb him when he's in a state."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Whatever."

Rimmer snorted. "Defended against what?"

"Sirs!" Kryten interjected brightly. "And… Ma'am." He added, less brightly, inclining his head towards Kochanski. She grimaced back at him.

"Kryten, how are you!" Lister slapped the mechanoid on the back with forced chumminess, ignoring Rimmer's glare.

"Fine, Sir." Kryten sat down. "But I should tell you… scuttlebutt has it that Shiv and Big Hairy Fat-Arsed Henry are going to fight tonight. I was wondering if you'd thought about how you're going to prevent yourself and Cat being… what's an appropriate human expression?" Kryten paused in thought. "Tranny'd up and rogered senseless?"

"Kryten, that isn't an expression. That's literally goin' to happen to us." Lister thumped his forehead down on the table top. "Smeg. I'd forgot."

"Sir, if you forgot that, you must have a mind like a sieve that's been used as target practice by an entire squadron of heavy artillery. And I don't mean a squadron armed with those little anti-personnel shells that just vaporize an area safely contained within the average bog; I mean the really big ones, often whimsically coined Big Bertha, that have been known to flambé entire city blocks."

"Are you done?" Lister asked, sitting up straight. "I mean, have you any more of this extended… sim… simil…"

"Simile, Sir?"

"Yeah, that. Have yeh any more to lay on me? I mean, since the prospect of becoming a human sasquatch's luvvy-bumpkins isn't enough of a pain."

"I'm quite done, sir." Kryten started to rub at a spot on the table with his rag. Under his breath he added, "As are you, Sir."

Lister slammed his palm down on the table, pointing at the mechanoid. "I heard that!"

"Listy, Listy, Listy…" Rimmer smiled at the scouser. "Why didn't you tell me you were in a bit of a pickle?"

"Look, if I needed advice in fleein' and hidin' behind large objects, I would ask you, Rimmer. But I don't, as," Lister waved his hands around the cafeteria, "this is a prison. Nowhere to flee, and no large objects to hide behind." He bit his thumb. "Except the one tha' wants to use me arse as a trampoline."

"Maybe you can go to the guards and tell them what's happening, and they'll put you back into PC?” Kochanski offered.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I've heard another rumor - that Big Hairy Fat-Arsed Henry is planning to sell Mr. Lister's…" Kryten brought the rag to his quivering lips, "Favors to the guards for an extra ration of ciggies every Wednesday."

"Are yeh enjoying this?" Lister turned to Kryten, his fists balled.

"Not at all, Sir. I'm only trying to help."

"Right. Then shut up."

"If only we could find you some sort of weapon." Kochanski chewed her nail, pondering.

"I should think the weapon would be obvious." A slow, scummy grin crept over Rimmer's features. "Lister's underpants. That unholy stink should be enough to knock out anyone."

"Yeh shut up too, Rimmer." Lister looked around, glaring at Rimmer and Kryten. Then he noticed something amiss, "Where's Cat?"

"Cat?" Kochanski asked. "Oh! I haven't seen him since yesterday." Worry pinched her features. "Do you think—?"

Lister caught her gaze, "Kris. Take Kryten and try to find Cat. Let's hope 'e's not hurt." Lister grabbed Rimmer's arm, pulling on it. "Come on Rimmer."

"What do you want?" Rimmer refused to move, picking up what was left of his weevil. "I'm not about to help either you or that wretched, yowling feline."

"Get up, smeg-head. Or I'll burn yer secret cache of Richie Dixon's Tango Treats."

"Do you think I give a smegging crap?" Rimmer asked, fishing out the last hunk of meat from the weevil shell.

Lister, Kochanski and Kryten stopped to stare, all struck dumb. Lister recovered first.

"They're yer prized collection, Rimmer."

"What?" Rimmer blinked at him, nostrils flared.

"RichieDixon…" Lister rolled his hands. "Your favorite musician. I'm gonneh burn yer copies of yer favorite musician's music. The last copies in the universe."

Rimmer groaned and stood. "Fine. I'll go with you - just stop blathering on about nonsense."

Lister smiled at him. “That’s the spirit,” he said, and chucked the man on the shoulder.

"Where are you going, Dave?" Kochanski caught his arm.

"I'm goin' to send a message to me little mechanical friends."

"But Ackerman put that damper on your pipe, you can't get hold of the skutters—"

"I’ve an idea." Lister grinned, pecking Kochanski on the cheek. “Go find Cat.”

(ooo)

"Jus' a lil' higher, Rimmer." Lister held Holly's watch out in front of him. He was seated precariously on Rimmer's shoulders. The taller man crouched below him, hands braced on his knees in the middle of the empty rec gym floor.

"I can't go any higher, you fat git." Rimmer spat, his arms and knees shaking.

Lister rocked upwards, trying to reach as far as he could into the empty air.

"If I knew this plan'd end up with my head jammed half way up your backside, I'd have never—"

"Got it, Dave!" Holly called.

"Yeah!" Lister levered his boot against the small of Rimmer's back, jumping off and landing with just a bit of a stumble. "Did you send the message?"

Rimmer caught the small of his back. Stooped over and grimacing, he growled, "Scrotty jackass."

"Bob says he'll try to help you, soon as he has a mo'." Holly looked out at Dave, his face expressionless.

"Did you tell 'im it was urgent?"

"I did, Dave, but he's dealing with a few of his own issues at the moment."

"Issues? What kind of issues can a skutter have?" Rimmer sneered, still rubbing is back.

"Us electronic life forms have lives, just like everyone else, Arnold."

"No, we don't have lives. That's why we do all the things humans don't want to or don't want to loose their lives to do," Rimmer snapped. "We're second tier, don't forget that, Holly."

Rimmer brushed past Lister who stared at him, open mouthed. "What are yeh on about Rimmer?"

"What?" Rimmer stopped to look at Lister.

"Yeh just said you were electronic."

"I did not." The taller man folded his arms over his chest and glared.

"You implied it, Arnold." Holly corrected.

"I—“ Rimmer started, then confusion swept out anger on his features. He swallowed, his hand pressed to his head. "I don't feel well…" He trailed off, his hand out and fumbling for something to hold onto. Lister moved to help him, catching the man around the chest. Rimmer fell heavily against Lister. "Get off me, you woolly goit," he breathed into Lister's neck.

Lister knelt, easing Rimmer to the ground. "Wha' happened?"

"Well, I don't have much input to go on, but I'm guessing that he's not taking well to having his mind completely shattered."

"Rimmer!" Lister slapped the other man's face. "Wake up, mate!"

"Hhn." Rimmer moaned, lifting his head to look at Lister. "What are you doing on top, Davey-boy?"

Lister sat back on his haunches and beamed. "Yeh had me scared, there."

Rimmer pulled himself up and brought his knees to his chest. "Did I?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not feeling myself, really."

"I'm sorry." Lister muttered. "I—"

"Oi! What are you doin' down there?" a guard called down from the gantry above the gym floor.

"We just took a wrong turn, is all." Lister turned, yelling back.

"Shut up and get out. Convicts ain't supposed to be in here between oh-thirteen and oh-seventeen."

"Can you get up?" Lister asked, catching Rimmer under the armpits.

"Stop touching me, you filthy, hair-ball headed scouser." Rimmer slapped Lister's hands away and stumbled to his feet.

Together they walked towards the stairs, the guard tapping his night stick on the gantry above them.

"What's the time, Hol?" Lister whispered, raising Holly's watch to his face.

"'What time is it,' 'Send a message to Bob,' 'Keep track of me appointments'. I'm a computer with an IQ of 6000, I'm not a palm pilot."

"Yeah, but you've nothin' better to do." Lister grinned.

Holly sighed. "I could be cookin' up a plan to get us out."

"But you aren't. So, what's the time Hol?"

"Half past five o'clock in the afternoon."

"I missed dinner because of this nonsense." Rimmer groused. "Finding a place where the signal was strong enough."

"Time for us to meet up with Kris and Kryten." And Cat. Lister grimaced.

(ooo)

Lister entered the mess hall with Rimmer in time to watch Kryten and Kochanski—a bruised Cat pressed tightly between them—waddle up to the food dispenser. Cat placed his tray under the nozzle, punching in his convict code. Kochanski and the mechanoid reformed themselves as a wall behind him, watching the cafeteria for signs of danger.

Rimmer sidled up to them, a sneer on his lips. "Is this how you're going to keep Cat safe from Eddie? Acting like two halves of a lunatic sandwich?"

Kochanski glared at him, "Do you have a better idea?"

"I—"

"What are you all doin' gettin' in the way of me thrashin' that lil' slat?"

Rimmer turned around, looking up at Eddie. "Ah…" He said, leaning back slightly. "I'm not in your way am I? Yes? Then let me get out…"

Lister stepped up, catching Rimmer by the arm to stop him from weaseling off. "I'm afraid yer gonneh have to get through us if yeh want Cat."

Eddie grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Wit' pleasure."

"Wait! What Lister means by 'us' is him…" Rimmer nodded at Lister, "him," Kryten, "and, possibly, her." He finished by jerking his head at Kochanski. "Certainly not me!”

"Shut up Rimmer." Kochanski pushed past him, standing in front of Eddie. "Look here, Mincing…" she cleared her throat, "Eddie. Don't you ever get tired of being a lazy stereotype? Don't you ever wonder if there is anything more to life then being a brutal thug on the fringe of society? Don't you ever—"

Eddie smacked her, sending her spinning into a table. "No."

“Ma’am!” Kryten jerked into a crouch beside Kochanski, helping her out of the table wreckage. “Are you all right?” He fretted, wiping sauce from her face and neck. She submitted to his ministrations meekly.

Lister watched Kryten. He rounded on Eddie. "You bastard!" He took a swing, getting his whole weight behind a haymaker to take the man down quickly. Eddie sidestepped it and caught Lister's arm, twisting the wrist until Lister heard a snap, followed by a blinding flash of pain. He fell, retching, to the ground.

Distantly he heard Rimmer speak, "Now, Eddie. May I call you Eddie? I don't think you understand the situation—I'm not—"

After that, Lister heard a crack, and the sound of a body hitting the ground heavily beside him. Lister turned, barely able to see through the haze of tears.

Eddie. It was Eddie.

The man was screaming—"'E broke my nothe! 'E broke my nothe!"

Lister looked up. Rimmer was straddling Eddie, looking at his blood-streaked hands like they were someone else‘s. His lips worked helplessly, no sounds coming out. He met Lister's gaze for an instant. Then his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed sideways, joining Lister and Eddie on the ground.

Somethingheavy pounced on Lister. He moaned.

Cat leaned into his face, grinning. "I'm the last one standing, buddy! I win!"

(ooo)

"Where am I?" Rimmer spoke.

Lister glanced over. "Convic’ hozzy."

"I feel like my brain's been wrapped in cotton." He looked at his bandaged hands. "How?"

"You ripped your knuckles open on Eddie's face," Lister whispered, shrugging his shoulder at the convict in question. A nurse was tending Eddie, tilting his head back as she examined his nose.

Rimmer pulled himself up, eyeing the IV in his arm. "Oh yes. I remember that." He sat on the bed, cross-legged. "What happened to you?"

"Eddie broke my wrist." Lister showed Rimmer his cast. "They've given me these luvly drugs." Lister giggled.

"Ehm."

"Ah, Mr. Rimmer. You're awake." A doctor sidled over, curt and rather generic in his plain white lab smock. “I am Doctor Valley. I’m in rotation at the convict ward this week. Yes?”

"Doctor, I'm fine. So if you'd just…" Rimmer waved to the IV.

"Ah, no." The doctor lifted a small psyscan out of his pocket and clicked it on. "I'm afraid you're going for a holoscan in the main medical bay."

"What? There's nothing wrong with me!"

The doctor tilted Rimmer's head back and pressed his right eyelid open, shining the psyscan into his eye. He followed up with the left. "Not as such. Yes? Your symptoms and your test results indicate some sort of tampering."

Lister slowly shrank under his thin, hospital issue blanket.

"Could you step off the bed for a moment? Yes?" Valley stepped back, waving Rimmer to stand.

Rimmer followed his instructions, but stumbled as he stood, catching the bed railing for balance.

"Feeling dizzy are you? Disorientated. Yes? I want you to stand on one foot and touch both index fingers to your nose."

Rimmer grimaced but complied, balancing precariously on one foot and moving his fingers to his nose.

"Slower." Doctor Valley backed away.

Rimmer closed his eyes for a moment and promptly lost his balance. He spent a few minutes tipping over, then caught himself and resumed following Valley's instructions.

Lister watched the doctor back up until he bumped into a tray. "Good, good," he said, watching Rimmer touch his nose. The doctor picked up a rubber ear syringe behind his back. "Excellent." In one smooth movement the doctor threw the ear syringe at Rimmer.

Rimmer ducked in a flurry of displaced blankets.

Lister blinked, impressed. He rolled his head over to look at the bottom far wall, searching for the rubber syringe. It wasn't there. He rolled his head back.

Rimmer had caught it.

"What the smeg?" Rimmer looked at the ear syringe in his hand. He threw it down, lips curled in fury. "What kind of quack are you? I'll write you up for malpractice, squire!"

"A simple test of reflex." The doctor replied. "Yes. I think we'll find someone's been having a little fun with your cerebellum." He picked up a touch-pen and started writing on his electronic clipboard.

"What things?" Rimmer glared at him.

"Your hormonal signature is off the charts, yes? Compared to your former norms, at least."

"And… so?"

"A little context? Yes? I find there are two types of people in the world—"

"Those that assault others with random medical implements and those that don't?" Rimmer crossed his hands over his chest.

"Those two types are people who are prone to… addictions of the parasympathetic response, and those who are prone to addictions of the sympathetic. Your normal hormonal signature, the composite of readings taken over your fifteen years’ of service at JMC, suggests you're more of a parasympathetic individual. Yes? Excess cortisone, and all that. Now your hormonal signature resembles a sympathetic individual. Excess adrenaline."

"And… that means?"

"Let's move this into the concrete, shall we? Yes?" The doctor fluttered his hand from shoulder height to hip height. "Your signature has started to resemble Lieutenant Commander Todhunter's, to use an example. Now, you were the type of person who was likely to enjoy stamp collecting and Christian Rock as entertainment. Yes? Todhunter preferred jumping out of aeroplanes and copious casual sex."

Rimmer blinked. "But I feel… normal. Aside from the dizziness, of course."

"Well… there's no reason why you wouldn't… feel normal. I mean, this isn't an illness, yes? Or anything… that…" The doctor trailed off. "It'll be up to you, how you want this issue resolved, ultimately. Would you like to return to being a… well… I mean, to use the laymen's term… a git?"

"A git," Rimmer repeated. "Is that what it states in mymedical records?"

The doctor looked at his clipboard, used his touch pen to scroll down, then flipped a few records. "Yes." He nodded vigorously. "The files are rather consistent on that point."

Lister couldn't help a little giggle at that.

Valley turned to look at him. "Nurse? Isn't he ready for discharge?"

The nurse put down the bandage she'd been about to apply to one of Eddie's lacerations. "Oh no, Doctor. He'll have to stay over night for observation."

Doctor Valley rolled his hands at Lister. "Please be quiet while I am consulting with Mr. Rimmer, yes?"

"Oh, right sir." Lister squeezed his lips tight against another chuckle.

"Now. It is up to you how the… treatment will proceed. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We don't even know what we're dealing with until we've done a holoscan."

"But you've got some idea, haven't you?" Rimmer sat back on the bed. "Some educated guess?"

"Yes. I believe you've undergone an illegal mind patch."

"A what?"

"A mind patch. You see, when someone places a hologrammatic personality and—"

"I know what it is."

"You do? Yes? Well, we'll find out for sure after the scan. Of course,then there is the issue of charges."

Rimmer balled his fists. "Charges?"

"It's illegal, after all, yes?" Valley busied himself jotting notes on his clip board. "So when did you become dissatisfied with your life as… a git?"

"You think I did it." Rimmer stood and glared down at the doctor. "You think I did it to myself! I didn't! You throw things at me, unprovoked—and now you accuse me of being insane enough to do a mind patch on myself because I hate being a git." Rimmer's nostrils quivered. "Which I don't, because I'm not!"

"Mr. Rimmer! Please! Remember the inhibitions you used to have and come down! Yes?"

"Yes, my arse, doctor! I didn't do it!" Rimmer stepped onto the bed and kicked a tray of medical instruments at Valley. The man ducked, shielding himself with his clip board. The instruments clattered over the floor.

The nurse turned to face Rimmer. "Mr. Rimmer. We do not tolerate staff abuse. If you don't get down, I'll call for the orderlies."

"Go ahead. I'm not going to get holoscanned, and I'm not going to stay here any longer. As a prisoner I demand the right to be imprisoned. In my cell. Alone." Rimmer stood over them all, hands on his hips.

From his angle, Lister got a very good view of Rimmer's arse, poking out of the open back of the hospital gown. As he half-cowered under his blanket, he pondered how a white boy from Io managed to be two-thirds arse. He clamped his hand over another giggle.

The Nurse made good on her threat, slipping out to the door to call in reinforcements—two bristly men in green smocks.

Lister tried to make himself as small as possible as the two started wrestling Rimmer down. Rimmer had gotten hold of the curtain bar. One orderly caught hold of Rimmer's hips and pulled until Rimmer was nearly parallel with the floor. The second tried to climb on the bed to wrench open Rimmer's fingers. The bed skidded sideways. One orderly fell onto his forearms and knees, swearing at the pain; the other stumbled backwards into Doctor Valley.

Rimmer swung and twisted, held up by his arms and nothing else. "I didn't do it! I didn't!"

The Doctor thrust a pulse-hypo at one of the Orderlies. The man grabbed it, nodded at the other orderly. One bear-hugged Rimmer's dangling chest, while the other jabbed it into Rimmer's IV.

A few more spasms and Rimmer collapsed into the orderly's arms.

Lister peeked out from under his blanket.

Doctor Valley wiped his face with a kerchief. "Strap him in to a gurney, yes? I'm taking him in to the main bay."

"What about our other patients, Doctor?"

Valley looked at Eddie, who looked back, shaken by the whole event.

"He can go. Yes. Take him, too." He waved at Lister. "Get them all out of the bay. I want no one here when I return. Yes?"

"But, sir—" the nurse protested.

"Stick a portable psyscan on the skuzzy one. Get them out."

"And if there's an emergency?"

Doctor Valley didn't answer. Instead he turned to the orderlies and the unconscious Rimmer strapped to a stretcher. "Let's go, yes?"

Lister watched Rimmer go. Suddenly feeling like smeg. Smeg that had found out its uncle was also its father and brother and, possibly, its grandfather too, but those tests hadn't come back from the lab yet.