Chapter Text
There have been many instances throughout human history where a single shot started great turmoil, terrible wars, and the fall of mighty empires. More often than not, the first gunshot, the first cannon fire, or the first bomb dropped were a sign of dark days to come.
Curiously, the opposite was almost never the case. There weren’t many examples of a single shot ending a conflict, saving lives, and bringing peace where there once was none. There were no notable examples until now at least, when a single man with one chance actually fired, and set things right.
Only, Arnold J. Rimmer wasn’t exactly a man, he was a hard light hologram. And he had no idea if the single shot from his bazookoid was going to make a difference. Nevertheless, he persisted. Despite every sign, every doubt, every little nagging fear that he’d be too late to save the only ones who came close to caring about him, he loaded his weapon, took aim, and fired on his target.
The time drive, the source of all his troubles, shattered into a mess of metal pieces and melted wires.
And just as the time machine broke apart, Rimmer’s surroundings were beginning to piece themselves back together. The engine room of the spaceship Starbug looked as if it were moving backwards in time, with the smoke clearing, pillars standing back in place, and the emergency lights shutting off, no longer flashing.
In an instant, Rimmer dropped the bazookoid and made a mad dash down the corridor.
There was no room for thought. Only one word mattered to Rimmer at the moment: forwards. He had to go forwards, to Starbug’s cockpit.
As Rimmer’s run continued, the walls and floors sprang back into shape ahead of him.
Rimmer reached the cockpit doors. His hand hovered over the switch to open them. He hesitated for at least a minute. What would he see on the other side? He half expected to see the image that haunted him: of Lister and the Cat’s lifeless, bloodied bodies on the floor, and Kryten’s empty eyes that no longer had their electronic spark.
And when the idea caught up to him, Rimmer was afraid, and more nervous than he’d ever been before any exam. The dread could have virtually paralyzed him, left him as a hologrammatic statue standing perfectly still. He would have stayed that way, if his anger wouldn’t have punched straight through.
Things couldn’t end like this! They’d all come so far, they’d seen so much, and Rimmer, against all common sense and logic, wanted more. He wanted more time, more moments, more of their company, and he wouldn’t accept a reality where the others were gone. Rimmer didn’t even want to imagine the idea of being completely and utterly alone in deep space.
They were safe, he told himself, as a plethora of mixed emotions threatened to overload him. They had to be safe.
Rimmer made a fist, and slammed it into the switch. When the double doors opened, he ran straight through.
“Lister! Cat! Kryten!” Rimmer shouted their names in a mix of hope and desperation.
He took a few steps toward the center, when he heard a reply with a rather familiar Liverpool accent.
“We’re all here, Rimmer, where have you been?” Lister asked him. He had that stupid, annoying grin on his face that normally got on Rimmer’s nerves.
“Are you trying to play that game where you find each other by just using your voice?” The Cat asked. “You’re cheating, Goalpost Head! You’re supposed to start in the cargo bay!”
“Mister Rimmer, are you alright, sir?” Kryten said, looking at him with concern.
“I’m fine.” Rimmer replied, with some hesitation. “I’m perfectly fine.” He added, as if repeating the idea would somehow make it true.
Rimmer made his way past the others, and eased himself slowly into his chair. This took more effort than usual, as his mind was still processing whether all of this was real. His chair felt solid enough. The buttons at his console blinked with life, and just outside the nearby window was the big black, dotted with distant, silver stars. There were no other ships, except this one. As always, that came as a relief.
Just as he was feeling close to relaxed, Rimmer felt the others’ stares on him. What were they looking at him for? Didn’t they know it was rude to stare at people?
“Are you really alright, sir?” Kryten asked. “Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but it looks like you’ve gone pale.”
“Holograms can’t go pale, Kryten. It must be time to change your eyes again,” Rimmer answered quickly. “Can anyone remind me what day it is?” He added, hoping to change the subject.
“It’s Saturday!” Lister exclaimed. “You woke us up at half-five in the morning so you could call your little morale meeting.”
“That meeting happened last week, Lister!” shouted Rimmer. “And it was very important to me.”
“Last week?” The Cat screwed up his face in confusion. “Are you crazy? I know it was this morning! I remember picking out this suit and this earring before you even got out of bed!” he added, gesturing to himself.
“Something’s not right here.” Lister said thoughtfully. “How did Rimmer end up a week ahead of us?”
“I’m not ahead, you’re behind!” Rimmer argued. “Don’t you remember the unreality minefield?”
“What minefield?” Lister asked.
“And the time drive!” Rimmer exclaimed.
“Is that some kind of new steering wheel that drives us through time?” asked the Cat. “Where is it? I want to take it for a spin!”
Ignoring the Cat, Rimmer turned to Kryten, coming out of his chair and grabbing onto the mechanoid’s arms.
“Kryten, you remember what happened, don’t you?” Rimmer asked, with a hint of worry in his voice. “Explain everything! Tell them I haven’t lost my mind!”
Kryten placed a comforting hand over Rimmer’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, Mister Rimmer. I know your sanity chip is still in working order. In holograms, they’re built to last!” He said, trying to sound reassuring.
“So you believe me!” Rimmer concluded.
“I believe this is a matter we need to discuss in private, sir.” said Kryten. He glanced at Lister and the Cat, and looked back at Rimmer. “As one mechanical life form to another.”
“What’s with all this hush-hush business all of the sudden?” Lister asked. “You don’t have to hide anything, you can trust me!” He added, looking between the both of them.
“I suppose there’s no sense in keeping it quiet.” said Kryten. “Mister Rimmer has a glitch.”
“A glitch?” said Lister.
“So that means he’ll get to skip ahead of me in that candy girl racing game!” exclaimed Cat. “That’s not fair!”
“It’s called Sugar Rush, Cat.” Lister said flatly.
“So you’re telling me I have a bug in my core program?” said Rimmer.
“It would explain everything, sir. Your false memories, your internal time clock being ahead, and the way you looked like you were taking in your surroundings for the first time.” Kryten explained. “A temporal glitch like this one is nothing to be afraid of. It happens to any computer generated life form with an extended runtime. No program is perfect.”
“What can I do about it?” Rimmer asked. “I can’t go on like this! If my mind is always a week ahead, I’ll be living in a permanent state of Deja vu! I’ll go peculiar!”
“That’s why it would be best if we got down to the medi-bay, sir.” Kryten suggested. “Once we’re there, I can scan your light bee for any signs of the glitch. Then I’ll put you into safe mode and remove it from your program.”
“What about us, Krytes?” Lister asked him. “Isn’t there anything the Cat and I can do to help?”
“It would be best if you both remained here for now, Mister Lister.” Kryten replied. “The glitch removal process is an extremely delicate operation. I’ll need at least four hours without interruption. You and Mister Cat will have to keep watch for us.”
“I can keep watch, no problem!” said the Cat, grinning. “You’re looking at the best nose in the galaxy!”
“I guess it’ll be us holding down the fort for now.” said Lister. He gave a mock salute to Rimmer, and smiled. “See ya in four hours, smeghead.”
“Don’t get comfortable, Listy. I’ll be back in three.” Rimmer replied.
Kryten and Rimmer made their way to the medi-bay without any more questions from the others. Kryten had been polite enough to shut the door behind them. He knew this would be a rather serious conversation about fixing Rimmer’s light bee. But for some reason, Rimmer didn’t appear to realize the true gravity of his situation.
As a matter of fact, he was smiling, looking as if he’d just bluffed his way through a high-stakes poker game.
“Ah, Kryten, you were brilliant back there!” Rimmer exclaimed happily. “The way you delivered your cover story, you almost had me believing you.” he added, nodding towards the android. “If you looked a bit more human, I think you’d be a fine actor.”
Kryten was taken aback by Rimmer’s comments and stared at him, puzzled. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t acting back there.” He said.
“You can drop it now, Kryten. I could tell a performance when I see one.” said Rimmer. “You and I both know that I don’t have a glitch!”
“But you must have one, Mister Rimmer, sir.” Kryten replied seriously. There didn’t seem to be even the smallest hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And it must be in its first stage. It tries to convince the hologrammatic thought circuits that nothing is wrong, giving a false sense of security while it spreads to more vital areas.”
Rimmer’s smile fell into a disappointed frown. “Kryten, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I believe now would be the right time to be in Sincerity Mode, sir.” said Kryten. “If the glitch corrupts your light bee’s internal hard drive, the damage would be irreversible. Your personality and memories could be reset back to the first day they were recorded!”
“But what if I told you I don’t have any corrupted files?” Rimmer asked him. “What if you just sat down, shut your know-it-all mouth, and let me explain what happened seven days ago?”
“Before you mention anything, I will have to scan you first.” said Kryten. “It’s the only way to know whether you’re remembering something that is true, or if you’re experiencing a glitch-induced fever dream.”
Rimmer blinked and let out a resigned sigh. It seemed like Kryten didn’t remember the last seven days either. Why would he remember? Kryten had been taken down, just like the Cat and Lister. Only Rimmer would recall his last charge and his single shot - it’s not like the others had a way of witnessing it. And while it appeared as if the timeline had gone back to a safe place to repair itself, something didn’t add up.
If the others were alive without their memories, why did Rimmer still have his? He had to find out. And as much as he loathed the idea of needing others' help, there was a chance Kryten’s little scan could give him answers.
Rimmer laid down on one of the medical beds, and shut his eyes.
“Alright, I’m ready for the scan.” Rimmer said. “Is this going to hurt at all?”
“You won’t have to worry about that, sir. It will be just like having an X-Ray.” Kryten told him. “You may want to close your eyes though. The light can be rather bright.”
Rimmer nodded, and eased the back of his head against the single pillow that was on the medical bed. When he closed his eyes, Kryten pressed a series of buttons on a nearby keyboard. A panel opened up in the ceiling, and a bright strip of light swept up from Rimmer’s feet and stopped just above the H on his forehead, before turning off. The ceiling panel then closed, and the sounds of a printer spitting out pages could be heard.
“All done, sir, it’s printing the results.” Kryten stated.
Rimmer opened his eyes, getting up from the bed. He had to blink a few times to adjust to the light in the room. He looked on as page after page was printed, until it finally stopped. Kryten took out the papers and began to examine them closely, all while Rimmer looked over his shoulder. They were written in medical jargon, so half the words looked like incomprehensible gibberish.
“Ah. This is extraordinary!” Kryten said as he flipped through the pages rather easily.
“Kryten, how is my file ‘extraordinary’ to you, exactly?” said Rimmer. “Are you about to name a new holo-virus after me? Will I flip to page 59 of the Artificial Life Forms and their Ailments manual to find my face plastered next to an entry titled ‘The Rimmer Defect’? Is that going to be my legacy?”
“It’s a rather strange phenomenon, sir. According to the scan, all of your files are in perfect working order.” Kryten told him. “And yet, your memory chips have recorded events that have truly occurred seven days into the future.”
“Yes, I told you so!” Rimmer exclaimed, irritated. “You could have just believed me the first time.” he added bitterly.
“That’s not all, sir.” Kryten’s voice softened as he flipped to the last page, and then he handed it off to Rimmer. “According to these future memories, you’ve witnessed the deaths of me, Mister Cat, and Mister Lister.”
Rimmer placed his hand over where his heart would be, as the all too familiar feelings of guilt and panic were beginning to rise within him.
“Yes, that’s correct.” Rimmer said, his voice falling into a monotone. “But I did what I could to reverse it. I set back time by seven days, is that so hard to believe?”
“The evidence is in black and white, sir.” Kryten replied solemnly. “I must apologize, Mister Rimmer! For once, I really was wrong to have doubted you!”
“I suppose you’d have no way of knowing about it.” Rimmer replied calmly. “But the real question is, why do I still know about it? If all of your memories have been reset, why do I still have mine?”
Kryten sat Rimmer down in a patient’s chair, and took his own seat in what would normally be a doctor’s chair in front of him.
“Sir, are you aware of how a holo disk records your memories?” Kryten asked him.
“It’s almost the same as when I was human.” Rimmer replied. “Soft light holograms have to rely on everything except touch and taste, but now that I’m hard light, I have all five senses at my command. Everything gets stored in my hard drive, just the way my brain would recall it, if I was still living.”
“Along with your senses, there are also programs encoded into your light bee’s internal hard disk. Think of them as running in the background.” Kryten explained. “One of these programs is a back-up black box. It records any instance where an accident, attack or other disaster wipes out the entire crew. It’s another way for the Space Corps to extract this data and send it to the crew members’ next-of-kin, so that they have a way of paying last respects.”
Rimmer took in the information, looking pensive.
“So, let me get this straight. I am programmed to record any memory from my senses, as well as any deadly disaster?” Rimmer asked him. He laughed at the irony. “I suppose it could be worse. I could be a race car driver and experience both simultaneously.”
“These memories seem like they would be a heavy burden on anyone, sir.” Kryten said somberly.
“Well, you said it yourself, Kryten.” said Rimmer. “It’s in my code. There’s nothing I can do.”
“The only solution I could think of would be to erase your memory of these past seven days.” said Kryten. “You would be on the same page as the rest of us, and start off with a clean slate.”
“No. I can’t go through with that.” Rimmer answered him.
“Won’t you at least think it over?” asked Kryten.
“Kryten, I have a chance not to repeat a mistake that would cost us everything.” said Rimmer. “I know I haven’t always been the type of leader you and the others would rally behind. I’ve been a self-serving coward in both my lifetimes. And if you ask me next week, I’ll probably prefer the cozy back to the front lines ten times out of ten. But right now, I want you to give me a chance to face this and come to terms with it.”
“I can’t argue with your wishes, sir.” said Kryten. “This is the first time I’ve considered your actions to be truly admirable. And yet, I can’t feel anything but worry for you, Mister Rimmer.”
“I’ll be alright,” said Rimmer. “All we have to do is carry on like everything is normal. Now why don’t we make our way to the cockpit and tell the others I’m cured?”
“But we can’t head back yet, sir.” said Kryten. “It hasn’t been four hours yet. If we show up too soon, they’ll find holes in your cover story. My Lie Mode can only go so far. Maybe you should take some time for yourself and rest for now.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in taking a brief nap,” said Rimmer. “It would be the first time I got proper sleep without hearing Lister’s guitar or the Cat’s yowling in the wee hours of the morning.”
Rimmer climbed into a medical bed once more, this time pulling the white covers up to his shoulders. He rested the back of his head into the white pillow, which was the softest object on the cold, stiff bed. It was like resting his head on a cloud, while the rest of him lay against stone. The stiffness bothered him. It reminded Rimmer that this was not a place that was meant to be lived in or familiar, and it felt just a bit too impersonal to be comfortable.
It felt like Rimmer was away from home. The definition of ‘home’ had changed for him over the course of both his lifetimes. But now, ‘home’ meant the bottom bunk inside his and Lister’s shared sleeping quarters. It was where he spent his time when there was nowhere else to be, trying to make sense of his astronavigation text books, listening to his favorite records, and sharing nonsensical late night conversations with Lister when the idiot wouldn’t fall asleep. For all intents and purposes, he’d just been there yesterday. But with the shift in time, it felt much longer.
But if Rimmer slept now, he wouldn’t have to think about being homesick. He would be back in the place he belonged soon enough.
“Wake me when it’s time, Kryten.” Rimmer said out loud as he shut his eyes. “I’ll be ready to take my seat at the helm soon.”
“Rest well, sir.” Kryten said. “I will see you in the afternoon.”
Kryten dimmed the lights. He knew that holo-sleep worked much like human sleep, and that it could be disturbed by loud noises, movement, or too much lighting. It was another one of those strange core programs loaded into every hologram.
Urban legends said holo-sleep was invented after a Zed Shift janitor died of fright upon seeing a colleague’s hologram at three in the morning. Of course, Kryten knew that was preposterous, as there was nothing particularly scary or dark about three AM. The truth, which was often overlooked, was that holograms still thought, felt and acted so much like their human selves that they had to make time for naps and a full night’s sleep.
And just like humans, holograms tended to make faces when they were dreaming.
While Rimmer was wearing a peaceful expression, that was about to change.