FicWad

Title: Last Humans
Chapter 5: Cassiopeia



"Warden Ackerman. Acting Deputy Harlen." Captain Hollister acknowledged each man in turn with a nod then paused to lean back in his favorite leather chair - the one with the really good lumbar support.

"Captain, Sir." Ackerman saluted with sinuous grace, poised like some sort of black, slippery predator. One that really liked hunting at night, preferably during a lunar eclipse, and had a taste for human flesh.

Hollister blanched slightly as he slowly shuffled the papers on his desk. Ackerman scared him. Scared the ever living bejesus out of him, in fact. And the fear was only compounded by the insanity of this particular critical juncture in Hollister's career. This gosh-damn bizarre critical juncture. This critical juncture where he woke up and found himself three million years away from JMC rubber stamping and three million miles away from JMC bureaucracy, the two forces that had kept him in charge of Red Dwarf for 20 years. A critical juncture that stubbornly refused to be a dream or a hallucination or a really bad virtual reality joke.

A critical juncture that left him leaning on Ackerman like a drunk man on five dollarpound whore.

He needed the Canaries to figure out what the hell was going on. And that meant he needed Ackerman in a way he never had before.

Hollister didn't like the feeling that there were two people in effective command now. Or the contrast between him and Ackerman. Ackerman with his hardened convicts, tempered by war and decades in the slam and Hollister with his filing cabinets and pasty engineers.

Although Hollister's was an impressive filing cabinet. A walk-in with those little rotating dollies with the clips - the ones that were so useful for filing paperwork for ignorable issues, while giving the appearance of attending to them.

Luckily Ackerman had all the ambition of a rhododendron bush, although that did nothing to ease Hollister's paranoia. Even if the weasel down one's trousers has no ambition to bite, it's still an unsettling experience.

Hollister took a slow breath and dropped his papers, forcing his mind back to the present and away from comforting thoughts of his filing cabinet and uncomforting thoughts of Ackerman down his trousers. He gazed at the Warden and Deputy down the bridge of his nose. His life-coach had told him that the gesture inspired a sense of authority. It always gave Hollister eye strain. He squeezed his temples, sinuses stinging, and folded forward in his chair. Trying to maintain aloof dignity, he squinted at Ackerman and Harlen from a half-crouch over his desk. Hollister hoped he didn't look like a constipated possum. Confidence. Confidence. Fake it till you make it. "I hear you've appointed a new Second Lieutenant in charge of the Canaries' Third Company."

Ackerman twitched, then fluttered into another looming pose. Harlen shifted, his expression blank.

Hollister hesitated, choosing his words very carefully and staring in an intent and commanding manner at Harlen. Ackerman was too intimidating to look at - although, to be sure, Harlen was not significantly better. The man was quiet and stolid and watchful, and Hollister knew that Harlen knew things. Oh yes, he did. The bastard. "I understand that you appointed Second Technician Arnold Rimmer to Second Lieutenant." Hollister tapped his fingers on the desk, then stopped when Ackerman glared at them. "Making him the highest ranking Convict on board," he concluded, hastily.

"Sir," Ackerman began, then trailed off into an awkward silence, mouth agape and eyes squinting in confusion.

Hollister raised an eyebrow.

Harlen jumped in. "Sir, I think what the Warden is trying to tell you is that Mister Rimmer has been showin' remarkable competency in combat. The Warden feels the man deserved a chance to prove 'imself as a Canary NCO."

Ackerman coughed and closed his mouth.

Harlen watched him, then turned back to Hollister. "Warden Ackerman would also like to add that he has currently no staff who are willin' to volunteer to lead cons into suicide missions."

"Surely you could have found someone else. For instance, someone who isn't the most incompetent man aboard." Hollister placed a finger against his lips. "Technically, Third Technician Lister is the most incompetent man aboard, of course, but that's only because he isn't even trying to be competent. Mister Rimmer tries to be competent, Ackerman. Oh, how he tries."

"Er. Sir." Harlan ran his fingers over his debriefing booklet. "Mister Lister was appointed Staff Sergeant of Third Company." Hollister looked at Harlen, his face blank. He had run out of expressions. "Okay," he said, limply. "Is there... So..." He closed his mouth and spent a moment gathering his thoughts. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Ackerman?"

Harlan shook his head as Ackerman found his voice, "Yes, sir."

Hollister arched back in his chair, settling his fingers on the bulge of his stomach. He thought about reminding Ackerman about the innumerable times Second Technician Rimmer and Third Technician Lister had played nasty practical jokes on the man, but concluded it would be an exercise in futility. Ackerman had all the memory of decorative aquarium rock. "Well... All right then." He stared at a point on his office wall just above Ackerman's head and leaned forward into another long, awkward pause.

Harlan broke it. "Sir, our debriefing...?"

"Yes." Hollister nodded. "I received your written updates on the Homeward project. Just run through the highlights with me."

"Sir." Harlen nodded. "The Canaries found a tertiary structure in the flooded Cassandra complex. It has an interface node."

"So we can still talk to Cassandra?"

"No, sir. She isn't... responding."

Hollister leaned forward onto his desk, a hand pressed against his temple. After a moment he opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a box. The cover proclaimed in blood red, spiky letters: "SPANISH INQUISITION! Wholesome family fun! Now with bonus thumbscrews!" He offered the box to Harlan, who looked at blankly.

Hollister inclined his head towards Ackerman. The Acting Deputy turned and glanced at his superior then back at Hollister. Hollister rolled his hands in irritation. 'Give it to him', he pantomimed.

Harlan turned and offered the box.

As soon as he caught sight of it, Ackerman's face split into a toothy grin as he pressed his hands to his cheeks, an expression of exuberant surprise on his face. "You shouldn't have, Captain!"

Hollister shivered, then plastered on a smile and clapped his hands. "No need for you to waste your time with the rest of the debriefing, Warden. Go into my receiving room and enjoy yourself."

Ackerman snatched up the box and half ran towards the door. Then he turned; a slick, visceral grin slid over his features. "Don't think you're getting away with anything, Captain, Sir. I know what this is about!"

Hollister quivered. Harlan looked back at Ackerman in surprise. Without another word, the Warden disappeared.

The Captain swallowed. Did Ackerman actually know something, or was it just another half-insane notion?

He waved Harlen forward. Harlen stepped towards the Captain's desk. Hollister waved him closer. Harlen turned back to Hollister and leaned over the desk until he was inches from Hollister's face.

"We are three million miles into deep space. The one AI entity we've come across that could give us some sort of clue about where we are and how we get back to Europa for our April 5th, 2335 drop is Cassandra. And you're telling me she's useless?"

"Sir, we're 3 million years in the future. How-"

Hollister shushed him, waving the acting Deputy closer. Harlen had to balance on his palms to tip himself further towards Hollister. Now they were millimeters apart. "That hasn't been confirmed or denied, officially."

"But Stewards-"

"Yes! I know! He extrapolated it from the star-charts." Hollister blew out a breath explosively, furious that Stewards had the nerve to be a competent astronavigation officer. "But it still hasn't been confirmed or denied. And until it has, there will be no more talk of it."

"Yes, sir."

"So what have you managed to find?"

"Well, sir..." Harlen pulled back. "Cassandra was powered using 26th century Quantum Engine technology. That technology was destroyed somehow durin' the Canaries' first run. But there's still a few of the databases she used."

"How much can they tell us?" Hope stirred in Hollister.

"I dunno, sir. We weren't able to access much. It's encrypted, and it's..." Harlen trailed off.

"It's what, Deputy?"

"Sir. Briggs said that it's asking for our Cap'n. It won't let anyone else access."

Hollister's stomach sank. "Can we retrieve the database? Bring it to Red Dwarf?"

"No sir. The system is too advanced. Most of it isn't even physical. We have no idea what'll happen if we remove the hardware. We've no idea what hardware teh remove."

"Can we interface with it somehow? Wirelessly?"

Harlen shook his head. "We've been tryin', Cap'n, but Holly can't shake hands with 26th Century technology, sir." Harlen placed his hands behind his back, rocking a bit as he thought. "Although Cassandra had no trouble scanning us and figuring out our crew complement and manifest, sir."

"So what are you telling me, Deputy? I've got to go down there?"

Harlen shuffled. "Yes, sir."

Hollister's mind started babbling nonsense about pancakes and water wings. He wanted to ask, 'Can't someone pretend to be me?' but he didn't dare. His position had always been as tenuous as a paper airplane flying through hell; showing off his abject cowardice and lack of a spine would probably send it tail-spinning into a lake of liquid sulfur. He pressed his fingers to his temples. His mouth continued on autopilot. "How soon?"

"There's a sort of storm right now, sir. Some sort of geothermic upset that's creatin' pretty powerful currents. Could smash a Midget like a pie plate."

Hollister's inner monolog jumped an octave and added speculations on the electrical conductivity of 19th century diving bells to its babblings. "Then when?"

"Best guess, sir? Three days for the storm to die down, another four to make sure it's safe..."

"Right." Hollister's fingers slipped against his lips. He had the strong desire to gibber. Instead he forced his hands to his desk. "Dismissed, Harlen."

"Sir--?" Harlen started.

"That's all I need, Harlen. I'll be getting in contact with you and Ackerman as soon as I've consulted with my senior staff." That sounded wonderfully authoritative. The small part of Hollister that wasn't gibbering had to pause to admire himself.

"Yes, sir." Harlen saluted and left.

Hollister listened to him gather up Ackerman, listened to him cajole the Warden into giving up his plaything, then listened to them exit his receiving room. All the while Hollister kept up an alert, attentive posture and wrote nonsense on his touch pad.

After they left and he had waited a few minutes to make sure they really had left and weren't coming back, Hollister melted onto his desk.

For a moment he lay there, wondering if he were in hell. Then he realized hell was probably ten fathoms below the ocean surface of a frigid world in a chamber that could collapse at any second.

He was just in purgatory, waiting to go to hell.

His door chimed out classic little dicky-dee jingle that usually made his day feel a bit brighter. Instead it sounded like a death knell.

He hit his intercom. "Hollister here."

"It's Todhunter, sir."

"Yes." Hollister picked himself up and arranged his features into a careful mask of indifference.

Todhunter folded himself into the room and stood in front of Hollister's desk in one long stride. Hollister blinked up at the tall and competent man before him. Not for the first time, he wondered how Todhunter had ended up on his ship of fools.

"Todhunter, reporting as ordered, sir." Todhunter saluted and dropped a file as thick as an atlas on Hollister's desk. "The R&D department's Homeward brief, sir."

"Hmm," said Hollister. "So what have they found out?"

"The Quantum-Cassiopeia project. It's not just connected to Cassandra - it's also connected to Red Dwarf."

"Us? How?"

"JMC leased mining vehicles to the QC project. They programmed Holly with subroutines that would take over in the event of a critical failure or the death of the crew."

"Is that what happened? Is that why we're out in the middle of space?"

"No. The Red Dwarf was decommissioned in the 24th Century, and that's when the QC subroutines were activated."

"But... how? The crew died in the 23rd century!"

Todhunter looked at his clipboard. "According to the evidence gathered from Mister Lister's psychotropic confession, yes sir."

"Are you saying that Mister Lister was lying?"

Todhunter shook his head. "No. But he may have been mislead by persons unknown."

"Do you have any educated guesses, Mister Todhunter?"

Hollister's first officer leaned onto Hollister's desk. "I don't know for sure. But sir... the original Red Dwarf would have had an original Holly. If we could recover him, we might learn more about what happened."

Hollister slapped his hand down. "An excellent suggestion, Mister Todhunter."

"Shall I tell Warden Ackerman to search Mister Lister's cell?"

Hollister went pale. "Oh."

"What's wrong sir?" Todhunter half turned. "Did you want me to get another tube of your... special ointment from Medical Bay?"

"Mister Lister is a convict NCO, now." Hollister grimaced. "He has the same search and seizure rights as a crew member."

"I didn't know that, sir." Todhunter chuckled wanly.

Hollister straightened decisively in his chair. "Go get Mister Lister, Mister Todhunter. We'll get Ackerman to search his quarters while he's gone."

"Sir? Do you think that's wise? I mean, if we start treating the Canaries badly-"

"No one needs to know about this." Hollister eyed Todhunter meaningfully. "Now go. I want the original Holly." Maybe, just maybe, that Holly would have enough information to save him a trip into the Cassandra Complex. Hollister smiled. He liked that thought.

"Yes sir," Todhunter saluted and turned for the door. Then he paused and turned back. "One more thing, sir."

"Yes?"

"Doctor Valley put in a report to my office about a convict whose hormonal signature has changed significantly." Todhunter shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know if this is useful to you or not-"

"Who is it?"

"Second Technician Rimmer, sir. Valley says he... he shows all the signs of a mind patch. But there is no one aboard who matches the personality algorithm except for Mister Rimmer himself. Valley says it's almost like Rimmer patched a second copy of himself into his own mind." Todhunter laughed, "Why he'd do something like that, I have no idea. Being a git is bad enough, but being a git squared, sir?"

"Er." Hollister pursed his lips. "We might as well bring up Rimmer, as well. Better safe then sorry. Dismissed."

Todhunter saluted and turned smartly, walking out in one stride.


###


Lister's arm ached. He twisted on his bunk, trying to find a position that gave him some comfort.

"Stop it," Rimmer snapped, looking up from his game of solitaire.

"Me arm hurts," Lister replied, looking at the cast. It had already been five weeks, and it seemed to be aching worse now then when it had just started to heal. But maybe that was because the doctor was tapering off his drugs. Lister turned over onto his back and put his arms above his head, glaring at the ceiling. Then he thrashed, kicking off the blankets.

Rimmer stood up and walked over to Lister's bunk, catching the man's arm. "Stop it! I can't stand you writhing about like a snake with an itch."

"It hurts," Lister whined, trying to shrug out of Rimmer's grip.

Suddenly, and rather violently, Rimmer kissed him. Lister yelped into the man's mouth as Rimmer's fingers bore into his injured arm. The position made it impossible for Lister to pull away, so he caught Rimmer's jaw and pushed.

"What are you doing?" Lister asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rimmer didn't reply. Instead he knelt on Lister's bunk and pressed himself chest to chest against Lister. Lister scrabbled up to a sitting position and flattened himself against the back wall. "What are you doing?" He couldn't help the quaver in his voice.

"I fucked her..." Rimmer whispered, on all fours now.

"What?" Lister pulled himself further away. "Look, if this is about Yvonne McGruder..."

Rimmer looked at him, disgust twitching his lips. "No, it's not about Yvonne McGruder. I gave her one - and you deserve it, squire."

He'd gone mad. Lister put his hands up to placate the man. "I'm sorry, man. Whatever I did... I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You pushed me away." Rimmer sat on his heels.

Lister recoiled like he'd been struck.

Rimmer got up from his heels and stepped back, his fingers against his temples. His hands were shaking.

"It wasn't like that, man!" Lister protested. "I thought you wanted to leave!" He pulled himself up out of his bunk. "You sure as hell were ready to leave..." He had to swallow the word he was going to say, missing a beat. "You were ready to leave us. For that woman, remember? What was her name? Minerva Stork or somethin'?"

"Nirvana Crane," Rimmer said, coldly.

"Yeah, that's the one." Lister edged around Rimmer, still jittery from the kiss.

"Don't you ever say her name." Rimmer's voice was empty of inflection. The sound of it arrested Lister. It was the same lack of emotion he'd seen in the man the night he'd confronted him about the mind patch. And now Lister could feel the crackle of potential violence.

"Why? Didja love her, Rimmah?" Lister wished he could take the words back the instant they left his mouth.

Rimmer's nostrils flared. He advanced on Lister.

The door slid open.

"Evenin', Gents."

Rimmer stopped and turned to the door. Lister switched his gaze from Rimmer to the acting deputy. "What's goin' down, Harlen, sir!"

"Yer to report to Hollister's office. Immediately."

"Yes, sir!" Lister snapped off a salute and scurried towards the door. He didn't turn to see if Rimmer was following, but he could feel Rimmer's gaze on his back. Lister rolled his shoulders to ease the weight of it.

The Deputy lead them in silence to the Interpol tower elevator and keyed the exit sequence, allowing them entrance. "Happy sailin'!" he offered as the doors closed.

In the privacy of the elevator Lister, watched Rimmer out of the corner of his eye. Rimmer had gone... dark. It was like Rimmer was one of those old-time movie starlets- except instead of having his own glamour light, he had his own ominous dark. His features were that extra bit of shadowed.

"I'm sorry," Lister offered, then licked his lips. "Er... I didn't realize it was a sore spot."

Rimmer shook his head, half bent against the lift wall. "Why are you so irritating? Do you have it as a bullet point on your resume? 'Excellent annoyance skills'?"

Lister shrugged. "It's a talent." He turned to face Rimmer square on. "For what it's worth, man, I'm really sorry..." He looked up, doing his best impersonation of something small and fuzzy.

Rimmer sighed. "Don't bother apologizing."

Lister thrust his hand in his pockets. "Why'd you kiss me, man?"

Rimmer stared down at his shoes for a long time. "I'd got up the nerve, you know. After you dragged us through time to get your smegging curry."

"I know." Lister nodded, his throat tight.

"Is that why you practically shoved me into the Wildfire and out of your life?"

Lister didn't answer.

"Funny thing." Rimmer laughed. "Fate seems to conspire to force me and you together, and just when I start to... start to like you, fate rips you away." Rimmer hunched his shoulders. "I'm noticing a pattern."

"Why'd you come back?" Lister knew now who he was talking to.

"I came back to save you." Rimmer straightened. "Isn't that what heroes do?"

The doors opened.

Lister stepped through and Rimmer followed after a moment.

They walked to Hollister's office in silence.


###

"How did it happen, Mister Rimmer?" Hollister asked, pointing at the hormonal chart he had open on his desk.

"I forced Mister Rimmer to merge my personality algorithms into his. It's as simple as that, sir." Rimmer folded his arms over his chest. "It was a last resort."

"Er... Why, Mister Rimmer?"

"Because I didn't want to die, sir."

Lister glanced at Rimmer, startled. Didn't seem right, that.

"So you forced yourself on... yourself to save yourself." Hollister rubbed his forehead then his mouth. "There isn't any law or legal precedent I can think of that relates to someone sacrificing their life to save their life." Hollister pursed his lips. "Er... don't do it again?"

"Mister Rimmer isn't dead. We've become the same person."

"Right." Hollister waved his hand. "Now, as for you, Mister Lister. You have a piece of equipment from the former Red Dwarf, correct? A certain AI named Holly?"

Lister's mouth went dry. "Uh..."

"I suppose that's answer enough. I want him, Mister Lister. Right. Now." Hollister clapped his hands together.

"You don't have the authority, sir," Rimmer said, his voice quiet.

"What?"

"We're both NCOs now. The former Mister Rimmer studied the regulations regarding convict NCOs quite extensively after Mister Lister signed him up erroneously. I know that you don't have the authority to confiscate convict NCO personal possessions that aren't stolen or hazardous. Right now, Holly is just Lister's ludicrously over-powered personal digital assistant. Nothing more, sir."

Lister stared at Rimmer. Smeggin' amazing.

"But, Mister Rimmer, there is a regulation regarding commandeering personal artifacts that are essential to mission security." Hollister shifted his head with a flourish. "I want him, Mister Lister."

"What is the Mission, sir?" Rimmer leaned forward onto Hollister's desk.

"That's classified, Mister Rimmer."

"Captain," Rimmer began, his tone low, "JMC regulations clearly state that in the event of an emergency requiring the commandeering of crew's personal possessions, they have the right to be assured adequate compensation unless they consent to waive it due to the nature of the emergency."

"What are you getting at, Mister Rimmer?" Hollister's eyes narrowed.

"There is no model in the H-series AI ship control that costs under 100 million dollarpounds."

"Holly isn't Lister's personal possession. He is JMC property."

"Is he registered in this ship's manifest? Or any ship's manifest?"

Hollister's grin shattered, replaced by blank fury. "Mister Rimmer. This is nonsense. JMC regulations don't apply at a time like this-"

"Need I remind you, sir, that the only reason you are in command of Red Dwarf is due to JMC regulations?"

"Are you threatening me, Mister Rimmer?" Hollister drew himself up.

"No I'm not, sir." Rimmer leaned back, an evil grin slipping over his face. "I'm not threatening you at all. If I were, I'd probably say something like 'could you get me a half dozen honey glazed, Dennis?'"

Hollister froze.

Lister turned to Rimmer, confused. "What's goin' on man?"

"Now that we've established where everyone stands," Rimmer continued, ignoring Lister, "I think you owe Mister Lister either a written guarantee that JMC will reimburse him for his loss to the tune of 100 million dollar pounds, or a compelling reason why Lister should give up his personal equipment."

Hollister stared down at his desk. His hands fisted against the nest of reports and briefs. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Mission Homeward. We're trying to figure out a way back to Earth."

Lister perked up at that. "Yeah, sir! That's what I was tryin' to do, too."

Hollister looked at Lister like he was a developmentally delayed puppy humping a prosthetic foot. Lister blinked back at him, offended. Hollister sniffed and went on, "Hopefully a top notch JMC R&D division will have a bit more luck then a Third Technician."

"What have you found?" Rimmer pressed.

Hollister sighed. "We're three million miles away from earth and three million years in the future." He stopped and stared at them both. "This is classified information. Don't tell anyone or there'll be chaos."

"Wha'? The crew doesn't know?" Lister gaped at Hollister.

"No. They don't. They think we've had a minor course correction due to an outbreak of Venusian chickenpox on Europa."

"It's been a year." Lister squeaked.

"It's an unusually long outbreak."

"There are only..." Lister did a quick count on his fingers. "200 people on Europa. And that's including the sheep."

"Enough." Rimmer flicked his hands. "Why do you want Holly?"

Hollister deflated. "We've been trying to piece together what happened to the human race. From what we've found, there hasn't been human civilization for over 2 and a half million years. Cassandra could have answered so many questions. But for some reason, she's no longer responding to queries."

Lister picked at the arborite covering Hollister's desk, trying to make himself small and inconspicuous. How he'd managed to kill Cassandra with a stick of gum, by accident, was still a bit of an embarrassment to him. He hadn't told anyone.

"What did you want Holly for, sir?" Rimmer asked.

"My Holly has no memory of the last 3 million years."

"Oh," said Lister, catching on. "You want to know what happened. Smeg. I never thought of asking." Lister grinned. "That's a bit of a laugh, isn't it?" He chucked Rimmer in the arm. "I never thought about asking Holly what happened to the human race!"

Rimmer looked at him, his lips gently sneering. Then he reached over and caught Lister's left arm, bringing up the man's wrist.

"Holly," Rimmer barked. "What happened to the human race?"

"Don't know, Arnold," Holly returned. "Large part of me memory banks been wiped. Now that I think about it, prolly was the reason I weren't feeling meself."

Rimmer let Lister's wrist fall, shrugging at Hollister. "Doesn't sound like he knows anything."

"Ask him if he knows who wiped his memory." Hollister waved at Lister's wrist.

Lister brought it up, "Holly-"

"I heard. Don't know." Holly paused in thought. "I think 'wiped out' might be a bit strong. I can't access the information. I think it's still there."

Rimmer grabbed Lister's wrist and brought Holly close to his face. "Who can access it?"

"Sorry, Arnold. I don't know." Holly blinked then his brows drew. "Wait a sec. I'm getting' a name. Cass... Cassiopeia. Mean anythin' to you?"

Rimmer looked at Lister. Lister shook his head. Then he looked back at Hollister. A look of feral cunning flashed over Hollister's face, quickly neutralized with a shrug of his shoulders. Lister eyed him.

"No." Rimmer let go of Lister's wrist, his eyes unfocused. "Wait. Maybe."

"Maybe?" Lister asked.

Rimmer caught the edge of Hollister's desk. "Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia," He muttered to himself, swaying.

Lister stepped up to him, catching his arm. Then Lister slipped his own arm around the man's shoulders. Rimmer felt... faint. Lister gripped him hard.

"It's going to get bad." Rimmer turned to look at Lister.

"What is?" Lister asked.

"I can't control it." Rimmer clutched at his chest and started to pitch forward. Lister scrambled to keep him upright.

"Control what?" Lister shook him.

Hollister's intercom squealed. "Medical! Get an emergency team up to my office in Interpol."

"No." Rimmer straightened. "Listen carefully, Hollister. I want you to bring Kochanski and Kryten into the fold. Get them on your Homeward team and give them access to their findings. Authorize clearance for both of them while they're working with the crew." As Rimmer spoke, he leaned more and more Lister. "I need to go back to my quarters." Rimmer turned, tearing himself out of Lister's grip. "Now!" he repeated, slamming out of Hollister's office.

"Sorry, sir!" Lister blurted at Hollister as he turned to follow Rimmer. He had trouble keeping up as the man bolted for the lift.

When they were safely back in, the doors closed, Lister turned to Rimmer, panting. "You know we could have asked for more then just keepin' Holly." Lister laughed. "It looks like you have somethin' big on Hollister? We could've got out of slam."

"No." Rimmer shook his head. "Prison is the best place for me right now."


###


Hollister watched Rimmer and Lister leave. Then he waited till he heard their footsteps recede into the hall. And then he waited a few minutes more just to assuage his paranoia.
Finally he hit the intercom's direct link to Todhunter's office.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I want you to grant Flight Officer Kochanski clearance to attend the Homeward think tank. Oh, yes. And the robot, as well." Hollister leaned back, opening the top drawer of his desk. It was empty. Only a few chocky-nut bar wrappers remained. And some crumbs. Hollister licked his thumb.

"Is that all Captain? "

"No." Hollister fished along the edges of his drawer with his thumb, gathering up fragments of chocolate. "I want you to study JMC regulations regarding seizure of crew property. Find me some way of getting the original Holly. And I want you to get Chief Thorton in my office. Oh, and get me another box of chocky-nut and my... special ointment. Dismissed." The intercom channel crackled off.

Yes. Chief Thorton. Hollister licked his thumb clean, spitting out the bits of particle board he'd gathered by accident. He would make a vague request of Thorton that the man would mis-interpret in a critical and unfortunately fatal way.

As Hollister pushed the drawer closed, a chocky-nut bar skittered into view. He stared at it for a moment then broke into a wide grin.