Categories > TV > Red Dwarf > Last Humans
Red Dwarf Fanfic: Last Humans
Chapter 3 : Algorithm
Summary: Wherein Ackerman is impressed, Lister is horny and Rimmer is promoted.
Warnings: Slash implications
Beta: Roadstergal, Rack
Chapter Rating: Teen(PG-13)
(ooo)
Algorithm
(ooo)
//Ship Serial No: Red Dwarf JMC66350
//Ship’s Time: 6:59-05.25-002.343
//AI-Holly-Executive: PROBABILITY OF MAKING EUROPA DROP STILL REMOTE
//AI-Holly-Executive: PICKING UP NEW SIGNAL FROM STARTRANSIT HUB™
//AI-Holly-Executive: STARTRANSIT HUB™ A GIT
Lister was up by the time the klaxon sounded.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell, staring at Rimmer's empty bunk. He wasn't thinking so much as feeling: a fiesta mix of guilt, anger, and anxiety. Olé!
Smeg.
He'd worried his lip until he couldn't find any more skin to bite. Then he'd gone on to his cuticles, which were now a mass of bleeding hang-nails. After that he’d picked at the loose bits of thread in the cast on his wrist. Finally he'd settled on his plaits, and was currently trying to cough up a matted mass of nappy hair he'd accidentally swallowed.
Smeg.
The guard banged his cell grating, "I don't know why I bother with you. Every mornin' it's the same."
"Then don't," Lister retorted, then added, "Bother," to clarify things.
"You wannah miss mornin'-sum?"
"I don't care if I miss anythin'. I don't wanna move."
"Suit yerself. Yer on a medical anyway." The guard moved down the row, slamming on the next convict's cell.
Lister curled up on his side, still watching Rimmer's bunk. The thoughts spilled out, as if the guard had reminded him how to think.
What've I done? snuck up fast, then,What'll I do? came round the bend. What was I thinkin'? slipped past It wasn't my fault!, scoring a goal.
Lister settled against the floor, looking under Rimmer's bed. Socks—wadded up into balls—lay under the bunk. So that's where me socks went, Lister thought before pulling himself to his knees and crawling over to fish them out.
He swept a few up, crunching them between his fingers and thinking about Rimmer. He'd hate that, knowing a few of Lister's socks had gotten through his anal retentive defense shields and festered there, uninvited, under his bunk.
Lister brought a sock to his lips and chewed it, thoughtfully.
After Rimmer had gotten his hard light drive, Lister had given a thought to cleaning, too. Something about the man being really there had made Lister want to clean up a bit. Get things a little more square.
Holograms, soft light ones anyway, couldn't really touch or taste or smell. So he'd cleaned like he was alone. For the most part.
Then Rimmer had gotten that hard light drive, and some time after, they'd hiked on some empty planetoid, the sun baking down on them. Lister had noticed that Rimmer was sweating. Responding to the heat.
Lister closed his eyes. He could see it; Rimmer had stopped at the top, and Lister had stopped behind the hologram, too close for Rimmer’s taste, Lister knew. Exercise buzz always bullocksed up Lister's sense of personal space. Rimmer had panted and said, "Jacket off." His jacket had vaporized, and he'd stood, sweat soaking his undershirt, looking down into the valley beyond the mountain they'd just climbed. He'd gone silent then. Just standing in the light.
Lister had watched him, watched the sweat slip down his skin, slicking his shirt to his pecs and arms. And Lister had thought, for the first,this is someone livin', some livin' animal, like me.
He had gasped and choked a bit, the horniness hit him so strong and fast.
Even when Rimmer had been alive, he hadn't seemed fully human. Or maybe, not fully animal. Not till that moment.
Rimmer had turned and stepped back, putting a proper distance between them. The motion stirred up a puff of wind that smelled pine-like and staticy, but did not stink of sweat. The man didn't smell. Didn't smell at all.
The horniness left Lister as quickly as it'd hit.
He'd started to clean up after that a bit, just to be nice. Because, well, the hologram was really there. Not not dead, but, like,alive.
Lister stood, throwing the socks in his laundry bin.
"Doing a bit of spring cleaning, Listy?"
Lister turned. The door slid open and Rimmer stepped inside. "Hi. Eh." Lister waved and went silent. After a moment he thought of something to ask. "How was the test?"
Rimmer stripped off his jump suit to the waist and lay down on his bunk, rubbing his eyes. "If you were hoping to gloat, I've bad news. I'm not going to be charged with anything."
"Wha' happened?"
"Inconclusive. They are almost certain I had a patch job, but they couldn't find anyone whose algorithms matched those they decomposed out of my scan. Aside from me." Rimmer laughed. "So no one on this ship canpress charges. No mind-right infringement."
"What's gonna happen now?"
"Now? Nothing. Like the good doctor said," Rimmer shrugged, "It’s my choice if I want to be treated or not."
"Are yeh?"
"Listy…" Rimmer propped himself up on his elbow. "I don't want to befucked around with again."
"But… yer different now. Yeh don't care about Richie Dixon, yeh say what's on your mind even to Kris, yeh get into fights… and win." Lister hesitated. "Wha' am I saying? Yer right, stay the way you are."
Rimmer looked up at the bunk above him. "I do wonder how this happened in the first place." He squinted. "I remember Ace. I remember waking up in medical bay. Nothing in-between. I didn't even know there was an in-between till Hollister questioned me. Thought Henry must've punched me, and I caught my arm on something falling down." He rolled over onto his side, pinning Lister with a glare. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Lister glanced down at his feet. "Sure. Yeah." He dug his toe into the steel floor. "I'll tell you, man."
Rimmer swung his legs out of the bunk, sitting on the edge. "Go on, Listy."
Lister glanced up at him. It felt like Rimmer was sharpening a mental knife on a mental rasp. He ploughed on anyway. "Well, Ace—well, your hologram, really— was tellin' me how…"
"How what? How to create a flight suit out of home insulation?"
"Naw. He told me about this war. He told us. He said he had knowledge he didn't have time to explain." Listy paused, thinking. "And experience he couldn't explain."
"And then what…?"
"He died."
Rimmer pressed his finger to his lips, affecting an exaggerated thinking pose. "I imagine that must be the abridged version. It's missing a lot of minor detail. How I got shot, for instance."
Lister couldn't meet his gaze. "Ace shot you."
"Ah. Now we get to the good stuff. So." He clapped his hands together. "Why did Ace shoot me?"
Lister caught a lock, bringing it forward to chew on.
"Come on, Listy. It can't be that bad. What's a bit of gunfire between friends?"
"He… he asked you to do a mind patch." Lister forced the words out.
"And I refused? So he shot me?" Rimmer rubbed his head. "I think I can guess the rest from here. Your special friend decided I didn't deserve the right to dominion over my own mind. So he decided for me to do the mind patch. When I refused he shot me and did it anyway."
Lister went silent. "No."
"No? What? Listy, are you still—"
"I did it." Lister mumbled, interrupting.
"What?"
"Idid it!" Lister pointed both thumbs towards himself. "I did the mind patch! Ace was dead before he could set it up. I did it. Me."
"You?" Rimmer lapsed into silence, staring at Lister.
Lister nodded, turning his head back and forth, trying to find a position that made taking Rimmer's angry stare comfortable. None worked.
Rimmer stood, advancing step by step. "You did this? To me?"
Lister swallowed, his hands up, palms facing Rimmer. "Ace said—"
"You used me as a guinea-pig, Lister." Rimmer's face was blank, but tension rippled through the muscles of his arms and neck. "You used me. You used my mind. You didn’t think." He touched his forehead. "You have a habit of doing that, you know." His voice was calm. "Not thinking things through, getting second opinions. Sane opinions."
"Yeah, I know, and then it all backfires." Lister watched Rimmer. The man was too calm by far.
Rimmer's cheek twitched. "You're selfish, you know that, Listy? You don't see beyond your own fat orbit."
"Ace said we might die if we—"
Rimmer sprang at him, catching the lapels of his prison smock and slamming him up against the wall. Lister grunted, his head hitting the metal paneling, sending a wave of grey over his vision. His broken wrist felt like it was on fire.
"You bastard." Rimmer's voice was level.
"Rimmah, let me go." Lister's voice was reedy. He'd never been afraid of Rimmer before. But that eerie, calm voice, belied by the tension that spat off the man like water off of a greased griddle, left him terrified.
"I'm going to kill you." Rimmer said, his voice matter-of-fact.
"No, Rimmer. I'm sorry. I thought—"
"You were doing the right thing?"
"I didn't hafta confess!" Lister protested. "Yeh thought it was Ace!"
Rimmer let go of Lister's lapel, balling his hand into a fist. Lister started to flinch and wrestle his way out of Rimmer's grip, then stopped himself, "Look, if this is what you need, man." He stood still, closing his eyes.
He felt Rimmer let his jump-suit go. He tensed his shoulders, trying to protect himself. No blow came. He opened an eye.
Rimmer had walked off, standing with his back to Lister. "I'm not going to speak to you for a very, very long time." He bowed his head. Then turned and left the cell.
(ooo)
"Why isn't Mister Rimmer sitting with us?" Kryten asked at evening meal. Kochanski glanced over at the empty table on the other side of the hall. Empty except for Rimmer. He had his back to them.
"We had a bit of a fallin' out, me an' him." Lister stirred his weevil stew. He was bowed over it, one hand resting against the back of his head.
"He found out what you did, did he?" Kochanski sipped her own stew.
Lister nodded.
"Am I missing something, Ma'am?" Kryten leaned towards Kochanski. "Is there something happening between Mister Lister and Mister Rimmer?"
Kochanski nodded around a mouthful. "Lister forced a mind patch on Rimmer."
Kryten turned to stare at Lister. "Mister Lister, you didn't!"
"He did!" Cat grinned. "And why do you care? You hate alpha-geti head as much as anyone else."
Kryten sputtered. "Sir, I do not hate Mister Rimmer. I may find him loathsome and detestable, but I assure you hate does not come into it."
"I don't get why you're all moping around over this." Cat crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "So what if Lister scrambled his brains? Anything is an improvement over what he was. The personality equivalent of fatal bowel blockage."
"Look. It isn't the man. It's the principle." Lister looked up at Cat. "I shouldn't have done it, even if it was Rimmer."
"Quite right, Sir. If we all went around illegally altering the personalities of people we found unpalatable, well, where would we be?" Kryten bent forward. "I'll tell you where we'd be, in prison."
"Kryten. We are in prison." Kochanski glanced, pointedly, around her.
"A worse one, Miss Kochanski. A prison of the mind. A prison where we'd have to constantly monitor all our irritating idiosyncrasies to avoid upsetting everyone else. Mister Lister would have to maintain a basic level of hygiene, the shock of which might just kill him. The Cat would have to cease being so mind-numbingly self-absorbed he lists his full length mirror as 'next of kin'. And you," Kryten flopped back in his chair, looking at Kochanski. "Well, where do I begin, Ma'am?"
"What about you?" Kochanski frowned. "Would you have to stop being such a jealous fuss-budget?" She propped her hands on her hips, nostrils flared.
Kryten's molded jelly-plast head jerked into a caricature of offense.
Lister shoved his hand between them. "Knock it off. Both of yeh. Yer not helpin'."
They lapsed into silence, Kochanski glaring at Kryten, Kryten busying himself with cleaning the table-top.
"It wath 'im!"
Lister glanced up. Eddie was pointing across the mess at Rimmer, Henry at his side. Without another word Henry left Eddie's side, weaving through the mess hall towards Rimmer.
Lister stood. Kochanski caught his arm. "Henry will kill you."
"I can't just leave him." Lister turned back.
Kochanski kept her grip on his arm, but stood with him.
"You Rimmer?" Henry slammed his hands down on Rimmer's table.
Rimmer started and looked up from his meal. "Eh… yes?"
"Yer gonna die." Henry reached over the table to grab Rimmer.
Rimmer jumped back, tipped his chair over and sent it clattering across the floor. "Now wait a moment—" He waved his hands in front of himself, stepping back.
Henry shoved the table. It slammed into another table of convicts, slopping their dinners down the front of their smocks. They glanced up nearly as one, looking ready to rip into the person who'd ruined supper. Then they saw Henry.
"I don't think I'm the one you want…" Rimmer kept backing up as Henry advanced, cracking his knuckles. "I think there's been some mistake." Rimmer's boot hit the back wall. He half turned, then went white, realizing there was nowhere to run to. "Please, sir, don't hurt me." Rimmer cowered, stooping down, hiding his head.
Henry's lip curled. He shoved his hand in Rimmer's chest, gathering up a fistful of smock and pulling the other arm back.
"Wait!" Lister pushed chairs out of the way, trying to get to Henry.
Henry did not pause. He let loose with a right cross that should have broken Rimmer's jaw. But it didn't.
Lister blinked. One second Rimmer had been cowering; the next he had somehow gotten behind Henry. Rimmer's right forearm was against Henry's throat, his right hand tight against his left elbow and hisleft hand on the back of the man's head. And he'd gotten high enough by somehow clamping onto Henry's back, his legs wrapped around the man's hips, heels hard against his thighs.
Rimmer arced his back and Henry went down backwards, landing on the ground with a thump, limp.
Distantly, Lister heard a wail. He turned. It was Eddie, screeching and sobbing.
Lister ran towards Rimmer, watching him extricate himself from Henry's body. "Didjeh kill him?" Lister asked breathlessly.
Rimmer shook his head, watching Henry, his face blank.
"How?" Lister asked, he caught Rimmer's arm just in case the man decided to pass out again.
Kochanski knelt by Henry, checking the man's pulse, "Out cold." She stood up, staring at Rimmer like she'd never seen him before.
"How'd yeh do it man?" Lister asked again.
Rimmer rubbed his forehead. "He left his back open. I hope I broke his smegging spine. Stupid fat goit."
"Where'd you learn that?"
Rimmer glared at him. "Company Simulants."
Lister felt like he was moving and thinking in a vat of molasses. "Homicidal mechanoids?
They didn't just kill yeh?"
Rimmer didn't answer for a moment. "We're used to fight wars. Hard light holograms."
"Whatcha mean? You're not a hologram."
"There are wars. With entire civilizations of GELFs. With resurrected humans in hard-light hologrammatic bodies. With Agnoids, ten times worse then Simulants."
Lister shrugged under Rimmer's arm, catching him around the waist, bracing for the larger man to faint again. Kochanski slipped an arm through Lister's. Her hand was cold against his. Other convicts shuffled forward, glancing between them and Henry.
"What happens to regular humans?" Lister asked. The cold in Kochanski's hand had spread to him.
Rimmer laughed. "Guess."
"Killed." Kochanski clutched Lister. "That's right, isn't it? Are they coming after us?"
"Stand back, you." A guard muscled through the milling crowd of convicts. "You did this?" He asked Rimmer.
Rimmer looked at him like the man’d just asked if he could hump Rimmer's mother.
"I asked, 'didjeh beat up Henry?'"
"He did." Lister jumped in, eyes still on Rimmer. "I saw it."
"I saw it too." Kochanski added.
"Warden's gonna want a word…"
"Thank you, Deputy McCray." Ackerman delicately shoved the Guard aside.
"It's acting Deputy Harlen, Warden, sir. I've been standin' in for Deputy McCray while he recovers from bein' vomited on by a dinosaur."
"Quite. Stand aside while I speak to the… prisoner, Deputy Hazel."
Lister watched Deputy Harlen suppress the urge to correct the Warden—again—with extreme difficulty.
Ackerman stepped up to Rimmer. "So—you beat up Henry, did you?"
"He did do, sir." Lister answered.
Ackerman clapped Rimmer on the arm. Rimmer sneered at him in response. The Warden continued unabated. "You're a big, strapping man, aren't you? Good in a fight? Excellent. I'm making you a Canary."
"He already was!" the Cat called as he threaded his way through the crowd, Kryten in tow. "He got kicked out!"
"We all did. Because of you," Kochanski snapped.
"Were you a Canary?" Ackerman squinted at Rimmer. "I think I'd remember a brave, stand-up type of fellow like you."
"I think that's why yeh don't recall him, sir." Lister grinned from under Rimmer's arm.
Ackerman tapped Rimmer in the chest with his night stick. "You don't speak much, do you?" The warden turned to Lister, his good eye fixed on him. "Are you part of his… gang?"
Lister laughed and looked at Kochanski, who caught his gaze, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, yeh could say that." Inspiration taking hold, Lister caught Kochanski on the shoulder, "So's she." He nodded at Cat and Kryten. "Them, too."
Ackerman pursed his lips, tapping his night stick against them. "I remember you now."
Lister's grin evaporated.
"You were that a capella singing group. My god, you were ghastly. Anyway. I've good news for you all. I'm making the laconic one—" he nodded at Rimmer, "Second Lieutenant, in effective command of C squad. And you can be his Staff Sergeant, little chatty… guy." He tapped Lister on the shoulder with his club.
"Sir!" Harlen winced. "Sir, is that wise?"
"We've a leadership opening on the Canaries, Hazel. Since the timely death of Second Lieutenant Knot--"
"Timely,sir?"
"He did outlive the average life expectancy of a Canary NCO by about 7 months, Hazel."
"Eh. I see, sir. Right. A timely death."
"Knot left a vacuum that needs filling. And unless you think you should start volunteering for suicide missions, Hazel…"
Deputy Harlan grimaced, shaking his head.
"Then it's settled."
"What about them sir?" Lister gestured to Kochanski, Cat and Kryten.
"Them? Oh, very well. They can be Canaries, too." Ackerman pressed a finger to his lips. "You can all be corporals. We've had a few of them die off, as well."
"Warden, sir. Don't you think it'd be better to appoint NCOs from the veterans?" The acting Deputy interjected.
"Don't be silly. All the veterans are dead. Now I must be off." Ackerman flicked his hand. "You can take it from here, Deputy Hazel."
"It's Harlen, sir. Hazel's rather girlie, innit?"
"Quite. Although you said it—not I— Hazel." Ackerman turned and minced his way through the convicts.
"All right, you lot. Move along." Harlen waved his truncheon at the milling crowd. "And you—" He turned back, jerking his head at Lister, "Follow me. All of you." Harlen turned towards the mess hall exit.
"Yeah!" Lister pumped his fist. "Problem solved. No more Henry, Shiv or Eddie."
Kochanski followed him, rolling her eyes. "And a whole lot more problems created."
"Eh." Lister snorted. "I'd rather be out doin' what I've been doin' for the past six years then here bein' fought over by two horny gorillas."
Kochanski sighed. "Bad to worse."
They'd gotten half way cross the mess hall before Kochanski and Lister realized Rimmer hadn't moved. Rimmer stood, looking around himself like he'd suddenly been dropped in the middle of nowhere.
Kochanski ran back, catching Rimmer's arm and pulling him along. Lister saw her shoot Rimmer a somewhat… longing look, quickly covered up by a mask of cool superiority. Lister raised an eyebrow at her.
She ignored him.
(ooo)
Harlen escorted Rimmer and Lister back to their cell. He'd already dropped off Kryten and Kochanski and had a discussion with Cat about his lack of quarters. Cat insisted that where he slept was a trade secret. On the way, the Deputy had picked up a canvas-lined cart from supplies.
"Pack up." Harlen punched in the skeleton code on their cell's keypad. The door opened. "Be quick. I'll be waitin'."
Rimmer didn't speak to Lister as he dragged his meagre belongings from his locker and drawers and then, hesitantly, from his hiding places, shoving his Christian Rock Music Vids—with gyrating vestal virgins whose white robes barely covered their ankles—Hammond organ LTs and Junior Risk Champion trophy into Harlan's cart.
Lister picked up his guitar, the only thing he owned, and joined the Deputy outside his old cell. "Where are we goin'?"
"'A' tower," the Deputy supplied, shutting their door. "There's been a die-off recently, so we've room to upgrade your kip. You two—" he paused significantly, "are goin' into a convict officer's suite."
Rimmer perked. "We're officers?"
Harlen paused. "Of a sort. Jus' in the Canaries. It don't hold wit th' regular crew, so don't go bossin' them around."
Harlen led them through a maze of connecting bridges and lifts. Lister hummed tunelessly; Rimmer pointedly ignored him. The Deputy looked somewhat defeated by the whole affair. After time Harlen spoke. "You've inherited a mess, you know that?"
"Eh?" Lister said.
"C-squad. Knots wasn't much loved by the rankies, nor was Staff Sergeant Aimes, but Sergeant Briggs is. Everyone thought he'd be promoted to second-lieutenant. I hope yer boy," he nodded at Rimmer, who had faded off into never-land again, only keeping pace due to Lister's tight hold on his upper arm, " has a good head on 'is shoulders. It'll be a rough road, winnin' over the Snake-eaters."
Lister felt queasy. "Can't we resign?"
"Naw. Ackerman would prolly kill you." Harlen thought for a moment. "Or maybe not. Never know with that nutter."
"Snake-eaters… weren't we in the snake-eaters?" Rimmer asked vaguely.
Lister waved him quiet.
"You were?" Harlen asked, "Well that's a right laff, innit? You'll be fine then."
"Er. But we got kicked out." Lister picked at his uniform. "Actually, it was Briggs who requested it."
"Why'd he do that then?"
"Er. Um." Lister bit one of his plaits. "Eh. We shot his foot?"
"What, all of you?"
"No. Just one of us."
"So that was you bunch then?" Harlen looked back. "You were the ones who managed to skutter a whole patrol?"
"It was an accident, sir."
"McCray told me about that one. One of you let yer gun go off in the transport. The bullet ricocheted, takin' out a finger, an ear, breaking one thighbone and a forearm."
"Er. Cat's never gotten the hang of his rifle, sir."
"Why's that? Don't he go to the shootin' range? 10 hours a week, it's mandatory in the Canaries."
"No. Hmn. He doesn't like to shoot. The recoil…" Lister nibbled his thumb nail, "it musses up the line of his suits."
Harlen shook his head. "Then one of you fainted dead away, thinkin' you were under attack—"
Lister nodded at Rimmer, who waved, a distant look in his eyes.
"Killcrazy got excited from the smell o' blood and tried to eat Baxter's thigh. Baxter, 'e went ballistic and used KillCrazy to beat three rankies senseless. He was on 'is fourth when you landed." Harlen paused, palming open the door to tower 'A'. "It took Briggs two hours to sort out the mess in the transport when it arrived. 'E says 'e found you lot cowering in the equipment lockers." The Deputy shook his head. "'E said he wouldn't 'ave minded except when he opened the locker, one of you came out wailin' and wavin' 'is arms, and shot ‘im."
"Tha' was Cat again." Lister finished, not looking at Harlan. His fingers twitched for a cig.
"This is a laff, innit? You boys bein' promoted over Briggs." The Deputy grinned, stepping onto the gantry circling 'A' tower's third floor.
Lister shrank into himself.
Rimmer leaned over the gantry railing, looking down into the long stretch of black pit below. "How far does it go?" he asked, seemingly unafraid.
Lister caught Rimmer's arm and pulled him away, not entirely trusting him. "From this floor? High enough to turn you into a giant puddle of chunky ketchup if you jumped.”
Harlan tapped his truncheon on the gantry railing. "If you gents are ready…" He stepped back and waved his club towards a nearby door with a flourish. "There it is, lads, your new kip. Step lively."
Lister pulled Rimmer over. The door slipped open, and they entered.
Instead of the 'G' tower’s rust and oil detailing, 'A' tower was painted in flat gray. Lister felt a flash of nostalgia. His old quarters on Red Dwarf had been the same matte, neutral gray. He turned to Rimmer. "Would you call that ocean gray or military grey?"
Rimmer looked at it, squinting. "I'd call it grey."
Lister eyed the man. Such a question would usually prompt a lecture on the subtle distinctions between military vs. ocean gray, and how and where they were employed to delineate crew quarters and access corridors on the ship.
Instead, Rimmer glanced around as if the issue was unimportant. Lister followed suit, noticing the privacy screen between the common area and the half bath with some relief. Although the room's walls were sheet metal painted gray, they no longer had a front wall made of fencing. Having a front wall that couldn't be seen through gave the small room privacy -something Lister hadn't realized he'd missed. Even the tarry oil stink was gone, replaced by a crisp bleach scent.
"You know where the Canary L-facs are. But there are a few extras for NCOs such as yerself. You get yer own mess. You get yer own showers. Both first floor 'A' tower. You have access to th' shootin' range and gym twenty four-seven. You eat when you want and sleep when you want. You drill yer crew when you want. Not much in th' way of military discipline here. Mission debriefin's in Deputy McCray's office. First floor."
Lister picked his guitar out of Harlen's cart, placing it gingerly against a wall. "Yeah. I've been." He strummed a chord.
"I'd recommend you getting acquainted wit yer crew and Briggs. Th' snake-eaters are tight now. Not more'n twenty, twenty-five if you count you lot."
"I see."
"Right. I prolly won't be seein' you as McCray's back from taking a sicky in the next few." Deputy Harlen nodded. "Briggs and the rest of the snake-eaters are on mission. They'll be back in a few, too. Good luck to you boys. You'll need it." He gave them a mock salute and turned, taking the cart with him.
Lister watched him go, giving one of his locks a good chew.
As soon as the Deputy was gone, Rimmer exploded from a standing start beside him, vaulting himself into the uppermost bunk.
"Rimmer." Lister walked over, looking up. "You never take th' top bunk."
"So, Listy?" Rimmer examined his nails. "I thought a change of pace might be in order. Even your fuzzy little mind should be able to comprehend that."
"Rimmer." Lister crossed his arms and leaned on the top bunk. "You always get nightmares when you've been in the top bunk. You start screamin' about floatin' off Io into space or bein' turned into a swing set or some such. You’re just doin' this to annoy me."
"Lister. I seem to remember I wasn't speaking to you." Rimmer gave him a glare, then turned over on his side and ignored him.
"Yer such a prat." Lister sat down on the bottom bunk, cupping his head in his hands. He looked at the room, thinking about Briggs and the Cat. Then he thought about Kochanski and Kryten. Bad situation, all around.
"Rim—" he began, turning up to look at the bunk above him. Then he stopped. The smeghead wouldn't respond, he knew it.
Somehow, the thought of that hit Lister a little harder then it had a right to. He bit his lip and sniffled.
Chapter 3 : Algorithm
Summary: Wherein Ackerman is impressed, Lister is horny and Rimmer is promoted.
Warnings: Slash implications
Beta: Roadstergal, Rack
Chapter Rating: Teen(PG-13)
(ooo)
Algorithm
(ooo)
//Ship Serial No: Red Dwarf JMC66350
//Ship’s Time: 6:59-05.25-002.343
//AI-Holly-Executive: PROBABILITY OF MAKING EUROPA DROP STILL REMOTE
//AI-Holly-Executive: PICKING UP NEW SIGNAL FROM STARTRANSIT HUB™
//AI-Holly-Executive: STARTRANSIT HUB™ A GIT
Lister was up by the time the klaxon sounded.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell, staring at Rimmer's empty bunk. He wasn't thinking so much as feeling: a fiesta mix of guilt, anger, and anxiety. Olé!
Smeg.
He'd worried his lip until he couldn't find any more skin to bite. Then he'd gone on to his cuticles, which were now a mass of bleeding hang-nails. After that he’d picked at the loose bits of thread in the cast on his wrist. Finally he'd settled on his plaits, and was currently trying to cough up a matted mass of nappy hair he'd accidentally swallowed.
Smeg.
The guard banged his cell grating, "I don't know why I bother with you. Every mornin' it's the same."
"Then don't," Lister retorted, then added, "Bother," to clarify things.
"You wannah miss mornin'-sum?"
"I don't care if I miss anythin'. I don't wanna move."
"Suit yerself. Yer on a medical anyway." The guard moved down the row, slamming on the next convict's cell.
Lister curled up on his side, still watching Rimmer's bunk. The thoughts spilled out, as if the guard had reminded him how to think.
What've I done? snuck up fast, then,What'll I do? came round the bend. What was I thinkin'? slipped past It wasn't my fault!, scoring a goal.
Lister settled against the floor, looking under Rimmer's bed. Socks—wadded up into balls—lay under the bunk. So that's where me socks went, Lister thought before pulling himself to his knees and crawling over to fish them out.
He swept a few up, crunching them between his fingers and thinking about Rimmer. He'd hate that, knowing a few of Lister's socks had gotten through his anal retentive defense shields and festered there, uninvited, under his bunk.
Lister brought a sock to his lips and chewed it, thoughtfully.
After Rimmer had gotten his hard light drive, Lister had given a thought to cleaning, too. Something about the man being really there had made Lister want to clean up a bit. Get things a little more square.
Holograms, soft light ones anyway, couldn't really touch or taste or smell. So he'd cleaned like he was alone. For the most part.
Then Rimmer had gotten that hard light drive, and some time after, they'd hiked on some empty planetoid, the sun baking down on them. Lister had noticed that Rimmer was sweating. Responding to the heat.
Lister closed his eyes. He could see it; Rimmer had stopped at the top, and Lister had stopped behind the hologram, too close for Rimmer’s taste, Lister knew. Exercise buzz always bullocksed up Lister's sense of personal space. Rimmer had panted and said, "Jacket off." His jacket had vaporized, and he'd stood, sweat soaking his undershirt, looking down into the valley beyond the mountain they'd just climbed. He'd gone silent then. Just standing in the light.
Lister had watched him, watched the sweat slip down his skin, slicking his shirt to his pecs and arms. And Lister had thought, for the first,this is someone livin', some livin' animal, like me.
He had gasped and choked a bit, the horniness hit him so strong and fast.
Even when Rimmer had been alive, he hadn't seemed fully human. Or maybe, not fully animal. Not till that moment.
Rimmer had turned and stepped back, putting a proper distance between them. The motion stirred up a puff of wind that smelled pine-like and staticy, but did not stink of sweat. The man didn't smell. Didn't smell at all.
The horniness left Lister as quickly as it'd hit.
He'd started to clean up after that a bit, just to be nice. Because, well, the hologram was really there. Not not dead, but, like,alive.
Lister stood, throwing the socks in his laundry bin.
"Doing a bit of spring cleaning, Listy?"
Lister turned. The door slid open and Rimmer stepped inside. "Hi. Eh." Lister waved and went silent. After a moment he thought of something to ask. "How was the test?"
Rimmer stripped off his jump suit to the waist and lay down on his bunk, rubbing his eyes. "If you were hoping to gloat, I've bad news. I'm not going to be charged with anything."
"Wha' happened?"
"Inconclusive. They are almost certain I had a patch job, but they couldn't find anyone whose algorithms matched those they decomposed out of my scan. Aside from me." Rimmer laughed. "So no one on this ship canpress charges. No mind-right infringement."
"What's gonna happen now?"
"Now? Nothing. Like the good doctor said," Rimmer shrugged, "It’s my choice if I want to be treated or not."
"Are yeh?"
"Listy…" Rimmer propped himself up on his elbow. "I don't want to befucked around with again."
"But… yer different now. Yeh don't care about Richie Dixon, yeh say what's on your mind even to Kris, yeh get into fights… and win." Lister hesitated. "Wha' am I saying? Yer right, stay the way you are."
Rimmer looked up at the bunk above him. "I do wonder how this happened in the first place." He squinted. "I remember Ace. I remember waking up in medical bay. Nothing in-between. I didn't even know there was an in-between till Hollister questioned me. Thought Henry must've punched me, and I caught my arm on something falling down." He rolled over onto his side, pinning Lister with a glare. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Lister glanced down at his feet. "Sure. Yeah." He dug his toe into the steel floor. "I'll tell you, man."
Rimmer swung his legs out of the bunk, sitting on the edge. "Go on, Listy."
Lister glanced up at him. It felt like Rimmer was sharpening a mental knife on a mental rasp. He ploughed on anyway. "Well, Ace—well, your hologram, really— was tellin' me how…"
"How what? How to create a flight suit out of home insulation?"
"Naw. He told me about this war. He told us. He said he had knowledge he didn't have time to explain." Listy paused, thinking. "And experience he couldn't explain."
"And then what…?"
"He died."
Rimmer pressed his finger to his lips, affecting an exaggerated thinking pose. "I imagine that must be the abridged version. It's missing a lot of minor detail. How I got shot, for instance."
Lister couldn't meet his gaze. "Ace shot you."
"Ah. Now we get to the good stuff. So." He clapped his hands together. "Why did Ace shoot me?"
Lister caught a lock, bringing it forward to chew on.
"Come on, Listy. It can't be that bad. What's a bit of gunfire between friends?"
"He… he asked you to do a mind patch." Lister forced the words out.
"And I refused? So he shot me?" Rimmer rubbed his head. "I think I can guess the rest from here. Your special friend decided I didn't deserve the right to dominion over my own mind. So he decided for me to do the mind patch. When I refused he shot me and did it anyway."
Lister went silent. "No."
"No? What? Listy, are you still—"
"I did it." Lister mumbled, interrupting.
"What?"
"Idid it!" Lister pointed both thumbs towards himself. "I did the mind patch! Ace was dead before he could set it up. I did it. Me."
"You?" Rimmer lapsed into silence, staring at Lister.
Lister nodded, turning his head back and forth, trying to find a position that made taking Rimmer's angry stare comfortable. None worked.
Rimmer stood, advancing step by step. "You did this? To me?"
Lister swallowed, his hands up, palms facing Rimmer. "Ace said—"
"You used me as a guinea-pig, Lister." Rimmer's face was blank, but tension rippled through the muscles of his arms and neck. "You used me. You used my mind. You didn’t think." He touched his forehead. "You have a habit of doing that, you know." His voice was calm. "Not thinking things through, getting second opinions. Sane opinions."
"Yeah, I know, and then it all backfires." Lister watched Rimmer. The man was too calm by far.
Rimmer's cheek twitched. "You're selfish, you know that, Listy? You don't see beyond your own fat orbit."
"Ace said we might die if we—"
Rimmer sprang at him, catching the lapels of his prison smock and slamming him up against the wall. Lister grunted, his head hitting the metal paneling, sending a wave of grey over his vision. His broken wrist felt like it was on fire.
"You bastard." Rimmer's voice was level.
"Rimmah, let me go." Lister's voice was reedy. He'd never been afraid of Rimmer before. But that eerie, calm voice, belied by the tension that spat off the man like water off of a greased griddle, left him terrified.
"I'm going to kill you." Rimmer said, his voice matter-of-fact.
"No, Rimmer. I'm sorry. I thought—"
"You were doing the right thing?"
"I didn't hafta confess!" Lister protested. "Yeh thought it was Ace!"
Rimmer let go of Lister's lapel, balling his hand into a fist. Lister started to flinch and wrestle his way out of Rimmer's grip, then stopped himself, "Look, if this is what you need, man." He stood still, closing his eyes.
He felt Rimmer let his jump-suit go. He tensed his shoulders, trying to protect himself. No blow came. He opened an eye.
Rimmer had walked off, standing with his back to Lister. "I'm not going to speak to you for a very, very long time." He bowed his head. Then turned and left the cell.
(ooo)
"Why isn't Mister Rimmer sitting with us?" Kryten asked at evening meal. Kochanski glanced over at the empty table on the other side of the hall. Empty except for Rimmer. He had his back to them.
"We had a bit of a fallin' out, me an' him." Lister stirred his weevil stew. He was bowed over it, one hand resting against the back of his head.
"He found out what you did, did he?" Kochanski sipped her own stew.
Lister nodded.
"Am I missing something, Ma'am?" Kryten leaned towards Kochanski. "Is there something happening between Mister Lister and Mister Rimmer?"
Kochanski nodded around a mouthful. "Lister forced a mind patch on Rimmer."
Kryten turned to stare at Lister. "Mister Lister, you didn't!"
"He did!" Cat grinned. "And why do you care? You hate alpha-geti head as much as anyone else."
Kryten sputtered. "Sir, I do not hate Mister Rimmer. I may find him loathsome and detestable, but I assure you hate does not come into it."
"I don't get why you're all moping around over this." Cat crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "So what if Lister scrambled his brains? Anything is an improvement over what he was. The personality equivalent of fatal bowel blockage."
"Look. It isn't the man. It's the principle." Lister looked up at Cat. "I shouldn't have done it, even if it was Rimmer."
"Quite right, Sir. If we all went around illegally altering the personalities of people we found unpalatable, well, where would we be?" Kryten bent forward. "I'll tell you where we'd be, in prison."
"Kryten. We are in prison." Kochanski glanced, pointedly, around her.
"A worse one, Miss Kochanski. A prison of the mind. A prison where we'd have to constantly monitor all our irritating idiosyncrasies to avoid upsetting everyone else. Mister Lister would have to maintain a basic level of hygiene, the shock of which might just kill him. The Cat would have to cease being so mind-numbingly self-absorbed he lists his full length mirror as 'next of kin'. And you," Kryten flopped back in his chair, looking at Kochanski. "Well, where do I begin, Ma'am?"
"What about you?" Kochanski frowned. "Would you have to stop being such a jealous fuss-budget?" She propped her hands on her hips, nostrils flared.
Kryten's molded jelly-plast head jerked into a caricature of offense.
Lister shoved his hand between them. "Knock it off. Both of yeh. Yer not helpin'."
They lapsed into silence, Kochanski glaring at Kryten, Kryten busying himself with cleaning the table-top.
"It wath 'im!"
Lister glanced up. Eddie was pointing across the mess at Rimmer, Henry at his side. Without another word Henry left Eddie's side, weaving through the mess hall towards Rimmer.
Lister stood. Kochanski caught his arm. "Henry will kill you."
"I can't just leave him." Lister turned back.
Kochanski kept her grip on his arm, but stood with him.
"You Rimmer?" Henry slammed his hands down on Rimmer's table.
Rimmer started and looked up from his meal. "Eh… yes?"
"Yer gonna die." Henry reached over the table to grab Rimmer.
Rimmer jumped back, tipped his chair over and sent it clattering across the floor. "Now wait a moment—" He waved his hands in front of himself, stepping back.
Henry shoved the table. It slammed into another table of convicts, slopping their dinners down the front of their smocks. They glanced up nearly as one, looking ready to rip into the person who'd ruined supper. Then they saw Henry.
"I don't think I'm the one you want…" Rimmer kept backing up as Henry advanced, cracking his knuckles. "I think there's been some mistake." Rimmer's boot hit the back wall. He half turned, then went white, realizing there was nowhere to run to. "Please, sir, don't hurt me." Rimmer cowered, stooping down, hiding his head.
Henry's lip curled. He shoved his hand in Rimmer's chest, gathering up a fistful of smock and pulling the other arm back.
"Wait!" Lister pushed chairs out of the way, trying to get to Henry.
Henry did not pause. He let loose with a right cross that should have broken Rimmer's jaw. But it didn't.
Lister blinked. One second Rimmer had been cowering; the next he had somehow gotten behind Henry. Rimmer's right forearm was against Henry's throat, his right hand tight against his left elbow and hisleft hand on the back of the man's head. And he'd gotten high enough by somehow clamping onto Henry's back, his legs wrapped around the man's hips, heels hard against his thighs.
Rimmer arced his back and Henry went down backwards, landing on the ground with a thump, limp.
Distantly, Lister heard a wail. He turned. It was Eddie, screeching and sobbing.
Lister ran towards Rimmer, watching him extricate himself from Henry's body. "Didjeh kill him?" Lister asked breathlessly.
Rimmer shook his head, watching Henry, his face blank.
"How?" Lister asked, he caught Rimmer's arm just in case the man decided to pass out again.
Kochanski knelt by Henry, checking the man's pulse, "Out cold." She stood up, staring at Rimmer like she'd never seen him before.
"How'd yeh do it man?" Lister asked again.
Rimmer rubbed his forehead. "He left his back open. I hope I broke his smegging spine. Stupid fat goit."
"Where'd you learn that?"
Rimmer glared at him. "Company Simulants."
Lister felt like he was moving and thinking in a vat of molasses. "Homicidal mechanoids?
They didn't just kill yeh?"
Rimmer didn't answer for a moment. "We're used to fight wars. Hard light holograms."
"Whatcha mean? You're not a hologram."
"There are wars. With entire civilizations of GELFs. With resurrected humans in hard-light hologrammatic bodies. With Agnoids, ten times worse then Simulants."
Lister shrugged under Rimmer's arm, catching him around the waist, bracing for the larger man to faint again. Kochanski slipped an arm through Lister's. Her hand was cold against his. Other convicts shuffled forward, glancing between them and Henry.
"What happens to regular humans?" Lister asked. The cold in Kochanski's hand had spread to him.
Rimmer laughed. "Guess."
"Killed." Kochanski clutched Lister. "That's right, isn't it? Are they coming after us?"
"Stand back, you." A guard muscled through the milling crowd of convicts. "You did this?" He asked Rimmer.
Rimmer looked at him like the man’d just asked if he could hump Rimmer's mother.
"I asked, 'didjeh beat up Henry?'"
"He did." Lister jumped in, eyes still on Rimmer. "I saw it."
"I saw it too." Kochanski added.
"Warden's gonna want a word…"
"Thank you, Deputy McCray." Ackerman delicately shoved the Guard aside.
"It's acting Deputy Harlen, Warden, sir. I've been standin' in for Deputy McCray while he recovers from bein' vomited on by a dinosaur."
"Quite. Stand aside while I speak to the… prisoner, Deputy Hazel."
Lister watched Deputy Harlen suppress the urge to correct the Warden—again—with extreme difficulty.
Ackerman stepped up to Rimmer. "So—you beat up Henry, did you?"
"He did do, sir." Lister answered.
Ackerman clapped Rimmer on the arm. Rimmer sneered at him in response. The Warden continued unabated. "You're a big, strapping man, aren't you? Good in a fight? Excellent. I'm making you a Canary."
"He already was!" the Cat called as he threaded his way through the crowd, Kryten in tow. "He got kicked out!"
"We all did. Because of you," Kochanski snapped.
"Were you a Canary?" Ackerman squinted at Rimmer. "I think I'd remember a brave, stand-up type of fellow like you."
"I think that's why yeh don't recall him, sir." Lister grinned from under Rimmer's arm.
Ackerman tapped Rimmer in the chest with his night stick. "You don't speak much, do you?" The warden turned to Lister, his good eye fixed on him. "Are you part of his… gang?"
Lister laughed and looked at Kochanski, who caught his gaze, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, yeh could say that." Inspiration taking hold, Lister caught Kochanski on the shoulder, "So's she." He nodded at Cat and Kryten. "Them, too."
Ackerman pursed his lips, tapping his night stick against them. "I remember you now."
Lister's grin evaporated.
"You were that a capella singing group. My god, you were ghastly. Anyway. I've good news for you all. I'm making the laconic one—" he nodded at Rimmer, "Second Lieutenant, in effective command of C squad. And you can be his Staff Sergeant, little chatty… guy." He tapped Lister on the shoulder with his club.
"Sir!" Harlen winced. "Sir, is that wise?"
"We've a leadership opening on the Canaries, Hazel. Since the timely death of Second Lieutenant Knot--"
"Timely,sir?"
"He did outlive the average life expectancy of a Canary NCO by about 7 months, Hazel."
"Eh. I see, sir. Right. A timely death."
"Knot left a vacuum that needs filling. And unless you think you should start volunteering for suicide missions, Hazel…"
Deputy Harlan grimaced, shaking his head.
"Then it's settled."
"What about them sir?" Lister gestured to Kochanski, Cat and Kryten.
"Them? Oh, very well. They can be Canaries, too." Ackerman pressed a finger to his lips. "You can all be corporals. We've had a few of them die off, as well."
"Warden, sir. Don't you think it'd be better to appoint NCOs from the veterans?" The acting Deputy interjected.
"Don't be silly. All the veterans are dead. Now I must be off." Ackerman flicked his hand. "You can take it from here, Deputy Hazel."
"It's Harlen, sir. Hazel's rather girlie, innit?"
"Quite. Although you said it—not I— Hazel." Ackerman turned and minced his way through the convicts.
"All right, you lot. Move along." Harlen waved his truncheon at the milling crowd. "And you—" He turned back, jerking his head at Lister, "Follow me. All of you." Harlen turned towards the mess hall exit.
"Yeah!" Lister pumped his fist. "Problem solved. No more Henry, Shiv or Eddie."
Kochanski followed him, rolling her eyes. "And a whole lot more problems created."
"Eh." Lister snorted. "I'd rather be out doin' what I've been doin' for the past six years then here bein' fought over by two horny gorillas."
Kochanski sighed. "Bad to worse."
They'd gotten half way cross the mess hall before Kochanski and Lister realized Rimmer hadn't moved. Rimmer stood, looking around himself like he'd suddenly been dropped in the middle of nowhere.
Kochanski ran back, catching Rimmer's arm and pulling him along. Lister saw her shoot Rimmer a somewhat… longing look, quickly covered up by a mask of cool superiority. Lister raised an eyebrow at her.
She ignored him.
(ooo)
Harlen escorted Rimmer and Lister back to their cell. He'd already dropped off Kryten and Kochanski and had a discussion with Cat about his lack of quarters. Cat insisted that where he slept was a trade secret. On the way, the Deputy had picked up a canvas-lined cart from supplies.
"Pack up." Harlen punched in the skeleton code on their cell's keypad. The door opened. "Be quick. I'll be waitin'."
Rimmer didn't speak to Lister as he dragged his meagre belongings from his locker and drawers and then, hesitantly, from his hiding places, shoving his Christian Rock Music Vids—with gyrating vestal virgins whose white robes barely covered their ankles—Hammond organ LTs and Junior Risk Champion trophy into Harlan's cart.
Lister picked up his guitar, the only thing he owned, and joined the Deputy outside his old cell. "Where are we goin'?"
"'A' tower," the Deputy supplied, shutting their door. "There's been a die-off recently, so we've room to upgrade your kip. You two—" he paused significantly, "are goin' into a convict officer's suite."
Rimmer perked. "We're officers?"
Harlen paused. "Of a sort. Jus' in the Canaries. It don't hold wit th' regular crew, so don't go bossin' them around."
Harlen led them through a maze of connecting bridges and lifts. Lister hummed tunelessly; Rimmer pointedly ignored him. The Deputy looked somewhat defeated by the whole affair. After time Harlen spoke. "You've inherited a mess, you know that?"
"Eh?" Lister said.
"C-squad. Knots wasn't much loved by the rankies, nor was Staff Sergeant Aimes, but Sergeant Briggs is. Everyone thought he'd be promoted to second-lieutenant. I hope yer boy," he nodded at Rimmer, who had faded off into never-land again, only keeping pace due to Lister's tight hold on his upper arm, " has a good head on 'is shoulders. It'll be a rough road, winnin' over the Snake-eaters."
Lister felt queasy. "Can't we resign?"
"Naw. Ackerman would prolly kill you." Harlen thought for a moment. "Or maybe not. Never know with that nutter."
"Snake-eaters… weren't we in the snake-eaters?" Rimmer asked vaguely.
Lister waved him quiet.
"You were?" Harlen asked, "Well that's a right laff, innit? You'll be fine then."
"Er. But we got kicked out." Lister picked at his uniform. "Actually, it was Briggs who requested it."
"Why'd he do that then?"
"Er. Um." Lister bit one of his plaits. "Eh. We shot his foot?"
"What, all of you?"
"No. Just one of us."
"So that was you bunch then?" Harlen looked back. "You were the ones who managed to skutter a whole patrol?"
"It was an accident, sir."
"McCray told me about that one. One of you let yer gun go off in the transport. The bullet ricocheted, takin' out a finger, an ear, breaking one thighbone and a forearm."
"Er. Cat's never gotten the hang of his rifle, sir."
"Why's that? Don't he go to the shootin' range? 10 hours a week, it's mandatory in the Canaries."
"No. Hmn. He doesn't like to shoot. The recoil…" Lister nibbled his thumb nail, "it musses up the line of his suits."
Harlen shook his head. "Then one of you fainted dead away, thinkin' you were under attack—"
Lister nodded at Rimmer, who waved, a distant look in his eyes.
"Killcrazy got excited from the smell o' blood and tried to eat Baxter's thigh. Baxter, 'e went ballistic and used KillCrazy to beat three rankies senseless. He was on 'is fourth when you landed." Harlen paused, palming open the door to tower 'A'. "It took Briggs two hours to sort out the mess in the transport when it arrived. 'E says 'e found you lot cowering in the equipment lockers." The Deputy shook his head. "'E said he wouldn't 'ave minded except when he opened the locker, one of you came out wailin' and wavin' 'is arms, and shot ‘im."
"Tha' was Cat again." Lister finished, not looking at Harlan. His fingers twitched for a cig.
"This is a laff, innit? You boys bein' promoted over Briggs." The Deputy grinned, stepping onto the gantry circling 'A' tower's third floor.
Lister shrank into himself.
Rimmer leaned over the gantry railing, looking down into the long stretch of black pit below. "How far does it go?" he asked, seemingly unafraid.
Lister caught Rimmer's arm and pulled him away, not entirely trusting him. "From this floor? High enough to turn you into a giant puddle of chunky ketchup if you jumped.”
Harlan tapped his truncheon on the gantry railing. "If you gents are ready…" He stepped back and waved his club towards a nearby door with a flourish. "There it is, lads, your new kip. Step lively."
Lister pulled Rimmer over. The door slipped open, and they entered.
Instead of the 'G' tower’s rust and oil detailing, 'A' tower was painted in flat gray. Lister felt a flash of nostalgia. His old quarters on Red Dwarf had been the same matte, neutral gray. He turned to Rimmer. "Would you call that ocean gray or military grey?"
Rimmer looked at it, squinting. "I'd call it grey."
Lister eyed the man. Such a question would usually prompt a lecture on the subtle distinctions between military vs. ocean gray, and how and where they were employed to delineate crew quarters and access corridors on the ship.
Instead, Rimmer glanced around as if the issue was unimportant. Lister followed suit, noticing the privacy screen between the common area and the half bath with some relief. Although the room's walls were sheet metal painted gray, they no longer had a front wall made of fencing. Having a front wall that couldn't be seen through gave the small room privacy -something Lister hadn't realized he'd missed. Even the tarry oil stink was gone, replaced by a crisp bleach scent.
"You know where the Canary L-facs are. But there are a few extras for NCOs such as yerself. You get yer own mess. You get yer own showers. Both first floor 'A' tower. You have access to th' shootin' range and gym twenty four-seven. You eat when you want and sleep when you want. You drill yer crew when you want. Not much in th' way of military discipline here. Mission debriefin's in Deputy McCray's office. First floor."
Lister picked his guitar out of Harlen's cart, placing it gingerly against a wall. "Yeah. I've been." He strummed a chord.
"I'd recommend you getting acquainted wit yer crew and Briggs. Th' snake-eaters are tight now. Not more'n twenty, twenty-five if you count you lot."
"I see."
"Right. I prolly won't be seein' you as McCray's back from taking a sicky in the next few." Deputy Harlen nodded. "Briggs and the rest of the snake-eaters are on mission. They'll be back in a few, too. Good luck to you boys. You'll need it." He gave them a mock salute and turned, taking the cart with him.
Lister watched him go, giving one of his locks a good chew.
As soon as the Deputy was gone, Rimmer exploded from a standing start beside him, vaulting himself into the uppermost bunk.
"Rimmer." Lister walked over, looking up. "You never take th' top bunk."
"So, Listy?" Rimmer examined his nails. "I thought a change of pace might be in order. Even your fuzzy little mind should be able to comprehend that."
"Rimmer." Lister crossed his arms and leaned on the top bunk. "You always get nightmares when you've been in the top bunk. You start screamin' about floatin' off Io into space or bein' turned into a swing set or some such. You’re just doin' this to annoy me."
"Lister. I seem to remember I wasn't speaking to you." Rimmer gave him a glare, then turned over on his side and ignored him.
"Yer such a prat." Lister sat down on the bottom bunk, cupping his head in his hands. He looked at the room, thinking about Briggs and the Cat. Then he thought about Kochanski and Kryten. Bad situation, all around.
"Rim—" he began, turning up to look at the bunk above him. Then he stopped. The smeghead wouldn't respond, he knew it.
Somehow, the thought of that hit Lister a little harder then it had a right to. He bit his lip and sniffled.
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