Chapter Text
"She can yell at me now without opening her mouth. That's being married." — Ringo Starr
-
“Sirs, I am delighted to report: we are finally approaching the planet Earth.”
Lister pressed his cheek a little flatter against the drive room window, trying to get a view as the ship maneuvered itself into the Earth’s orbit.
He couldn’t quite manage it; Red Dwarf was too massive, too boxy. But maybe, if he pushed it a little further — he squeezed, flattening his nose against the pane. The Cat gave him a quizzical look. “You tryin’ to rub your face off, monkey? It’s a bad face, but it’s probably better than no face at all!”
“Yes, mind you don’t break the glass, miladdo,” Rimmer sniffed, stepping up to Lister. His blue jacket glowed almost purple under the fluorescent lights. “I have no intention of being sucked into the vacuum of space today."
Lister pulled back, just to roll his eyes. “Oh smeg off. I’m just trying to get a view, here. It’s only been three million years, plus a few, since I’ve seen the place.” He threw up his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “It’s only been my one major, major goal to get back here, since before I even got on this smegging ship. No big thing though, yeah?” He mashed his cheek against the window once more, straining to see around the bulk of the ship.
Rimmer shook his head. “Ah, Listy. A molecule of patience could really turn your life around. Are you just a slave to instant gratification?”
“Three million years, man! What lousy kinda ‘instant’ is that?”
“Not to be pedantic,” Kryten interrupted, pedantically, “But I would like to remind you that, by the standards of Earth time, it has actually only been three years since the Red Dwarf left port. In fact, we’ve arrived early — the ship wasn’t expected back until next March!”
Lister pulled away from the window, again, to glare at Kryten. “That doesn’t count, man. We went back in time. That’s cheating. It still took us three million years to get here, and I feel like that’s a bit more important, yeah?”
Rimmer began a stiff pace around the room. “Three years, three million years — what does it matter, really? What’s the rush? You’re not even packed yet. I don’t see why we shouldn’t simply take our time and … well … enjoy what life brings, yes?”
Lister guffawed. “Since when have you enjoyed life, Rimmer? And you're dead, anyways.”
Rimmer's gaze snapped to Lister, eyes narrowed. “Shut up.” He threw out his arms as he continued to pace, gesturing as he went. “And, I’ll have you know — at heart, I’ve always been a simple sort of chap, really.” Lister bit back a laugh, as the hologram continued, gestures growing bigger with every word, “A steady, take-it-as-it-comes type of stoic.”
Lister decided that his attempt to stifle a laugh wasn't worth it, and let out a heartfelt snort. Rimmer shot him a glare that was one part hurt and nine parts incensed.
“What? Surely Mr. Cool-As-A-Cucumber isn’t gonna let a little thing like me ruin his day, yeah?”
Rimmer just huffed and sat down at a console, leg starting into a hearty jiggle. Lister shrugged, then shoved his face back into the window.
The Cat tapped him on the shoulder. “You know,” he prodded, “…that window is mine.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Another tap. “So, it’s mine.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Another tap, a bit more forceful. “So, I’m thinking, maybe you should ask me before you rub your gunky human snot all over my stuff?”
“Cat. Shut up!” Lister whined. His words fogged up the window, and he pulled back just enough to smear his hand across it a few times. “We’re almost home, and I’m gonna see it first. I deserve to see it first. My whole life, for the last three million years, has been leading up to this moment, I’m gonna see the smeggin’ Earth, okay?”
“Oh, sir!” Kryten said from the other side of the room. He pointed a boxy finger towards the window next to him, facing the opposite direction. “I think I see it! Oh yes, that is most definitely the Earth, right there!”
Lister leaped to his feet and crossed the room in seconds flat.
“I didn’t know you were capable of moving faster than a Galapagos tortoise,” Rimmer sneered, but Lister didn’t pay him any mind.
He pushed Kryten aside to take in the view out of the window. Sure enough, a prominent blue dot sat in the middle of the black star field. “Oh hell,” Lister said. He wasn’t prepared for the wash of emotions that flooded him, and was suddenly afraid that he was going to fall to the ground. “Oh, smegging hell, that’s Earth.”
Kryten, ever helpful, grabbed a chair and pushed it up to Lister, letting him teeter back into it without taking his eyes away from the window.
For a moment, everyone was silent. Lister looked out the window. Kryten looked at Lister, then out the window, then back at Lister, again. Rimmer looked at the floor, eyebrows knit. And the Cat looked for imperceptible specs of dust to pluck off of his coat sleeve, deeply bored with the mood of the room.
“That’s Earth!” Lister finally shouted, jumping to his feet, grin so wide that it seemed to fill his entire face. He clapped Kryten across the back with enough force to send him wobbling, then darted over to where Rimmer sat, tugging him to his feet and into a hug. The bewildered hologram barely had time to press a hand to Lister’s back before the man pushed away again, moving towards the Cat, arms outstretched.
“No, you don’t!” the Cat glared, pulling back. “Not in this suit. It’s my third favorite, out of all the suits I’ve worn today — maybe even second favorite!”
Lister shrugged, gave him an exaggerated pat on the head, then spun around to look back at both Kryten and Rimmer. “We did it, guys! We’re home!”
Behind him, the Cat desperately smoothed down his pompadour, nose scrunched up in distaste. “I’ve never even been to the place. And you messed up my hair, you damn hamster-cheeked disaster!”
Lister looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, Cat. And you’re gonna love it here, it’s brilliant! Right, guys?” he looked back at Kryten and Rimmer, expectantly.
For a moment, his question hung awkwardly in the air. Lister’s eyes darted uncomfortably between the mechanoid and the hologram.
Finally, Rimmer let out a snort. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, crossing his arms and sinking back into his chair.
“I’m afraid that I was manufactured on Callisto, sir,” Kryten explained. “But I did get a lovely view of the Earth, one night. It was in the winter of 2344. Such a stunning shade of blue! Oh, that must have been right before the SS Augustus launched.” He beamed, and something in his mechanical chest whirred. “I haven’t activated that memory chip in ages, how nostalgic!”
“What? Not one of you has ever been to Earth, then?”
“Nope,” the Cat said with a shrug.
“No way!” Lister pointed at Rimmer. “You said you’d been to Alexandria on a school trip. Felt like home, yeah?” He grinned in victory. “That’s on Earth.”
“It was Macedonia, you goit. And I wasn’t actually, literally there — do you think Io Polytechnic shipped students around the galaxy willy-nilly?”
“Yeah?”
“Well. They didn’t.” Rimmer drew himself up. “I was lucky to even be a part of the Virtual Grand Tour. I never got that letter of recommendation from a professor…”
“Your dad was a lecturer there!” …and that explained that, he realized. Before Rimmer could call him out, he pushed on, “— And anyway, didn’t Red Dwarf dock at Earth every five years or so? You've been on the ship so long, there’s no way you didn’t stop there.”
“Docked, yes; visited, noperino.”
“You didn’t want to see Napoleon's second favorite latrine, or any of that smeg?”
Rimmer sighed dolefully. “A long-standing dream of mine, yes — but duty comes first, you know, and contrary to what a useless layabout might think — vending machines don’t fill themselves.”
Lister groaned, face in hands. “Yeah, Rimmer. They do, actually.”
He couldn’t believe it — all this time and effort to get back, and he was the only person who seemed excited about it. Kryten seemed happy enough, sure — but mostly he just seemed happy that Lister was happy. The Cat didn’t seem to care one way or another. And Rimmer, for reasons that Lister couldn’t even fathom, was downright moody.
Thinking back, Lister realized that the hologram had been acting sour for days. Maybe even longer. It was notoriously difficult to detect when Rimmer was in a bad mood because he was always such a smeghead, no matter what mood he was in. Lister regarded himself as something of an expert, but even he couldn’t quite pin down the beginning of Rimmer’s current funk.
“…Anyway, man.” He gestured at the window, and the little blue dot that seemed a smidgen larger than before. “The great Napoleonic tour awaits! No more vending machines, no more soap dispensers, no more smeggin' porous circuits.” He grinned, waving his hand dramatically towards the approaching planet. “We’ve got prawn vindaloos coming, and old boring French war artifacts, grassy fields to walk through, and actual, real life, normal other people!”
Cat perked up, fangs glinting as he grinned, “Lady-type people?”
Lister spread his hands. “Billions of them, my man!”
Cat yowled happily, and spun in a circle. “So many ladies, so little time! I’ve only got nine lives, you know.”
“Right,” Rimmer scoffs, voice acrid and oddly low. “The people of Earth will be brimming with adoration for us, no doubt.”
“What’s not to adore?” Cat asked, smoothing down the front of his elaborately sequined jacket.
“Let’s tally up the inventory, shall we?” Rimmer began counting off on his fingers. “We’ve got a malfunctioning bog bot, who’s made tremendous progress in becoming increasingly stroppy and useless.”
Kryten said nothing, but his angular face sagged.
“We’ve got a snaggletoothed sideshow attraction with six nipples and no brain.”
“I ain’t no sideshow, I’m the whole show!” Cat shot back.
Rimmer pressed on, the only sign that he even heard the Cat was the marked increase in both his volume and pitch. “…and finally, a space bum who’s spent almost a decade marinating in his own filth and deteriorating social skills. Earth is just quivering with anticipation, no doubt.”
Lister squared off against him. “Right. And let’s not forget the dead smeg-for-brains who killed off the rest of the crew.”
Rimmer jumped to his feet, eyes wide, and Lister prepared himself for another verbal regurgitation of whatever mental sewage the hologram was currently wallowing in. But it didn’t come — he just turned sharply away and stormed out of the room.
Lister watched after him, shoulders drooping as the tension in the room flagged.
He stepped back up to the window, glancing out at the approaching Earth. It was still very distant — logically, far too small to see any details, but Lister was almost convinced he could make out the shape of Australia in the millet-grain sized speck of blue.
They’d made it. They really had.
Something else was visible out of the window. Lister shaded his eyes against the glare of the lights, leaning close to the window pane. He could just make out a grungy brown ship, much smaller and faster than Red Dwarf, speeding out into the solar system.
“There’s people here,” he said softly. “There’s gonna be a whole lot of people, aren’t there?”
Kryten, still standing nearby, gave an enthusiastic nod. “For certain, sir! In fact, we’ll need to get ready to open communications, and arrange docking. You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve given the old communication console a thorough, detailed wash — it will be spick-and-span for the job!” He positively beamed in pride.
Lister clapped him on a metallic shoulder plate. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”
Kryten smiled, ducking his head bashfully. “Oh, all in the job, sir!”
When the mechanoid looked up again, he saw that Lister was gone — he barely caught the last flick of his locs disappearing out of the door. “Where are you going, Mr. Lister?” he called, frowning. “You’ll need to operate the console before long!”
The man poked his head back into the room. “Thought I’d catch up with Rimmer. Seems like his kinda job, yeah?” he shrugged. “He’ll be narked if we don’t at least ask him to do it.”
Kryten hummed. “And as we just saw, he’s usually so very pleasant.”
“What?” Cat yelped, “That guy? He’s about as pleasant as getting your hand caught in the business end of a sewing machine!”
“I had sarcasm mode on, sir. I didn’t even announce it first! Isn’t that clever?”
Lister just shrugged again. “Gonna ask him, anyway.” He gave a quick wave and ducked out of the room.
Cat shook his head. “Humans. Don’t make a damn bit of sense.”
-
Lister found Rimmer in their room, moodily kicking at an empty lager can on the floor. “Eh, sorry about that,” he said, stepping up and swiping the can, tossing it into the bin. “Had a few while I was laying down, and didn’t want to get up. Easier to hit the floor than the bin, yeah?”
Rimmer rolled his eyes. “…suppose that’s just what I’ve come to expect.” Louder, he added, “And those are recyclable, you know.”
Lister raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You’re an environmentalist, now? You?”
“There’s a place for things in this universe, and cans belong in recycling,” Rimmer said. “Cans in recycling, and your socks in a nuclear waste dump.”
“That’s very nice,” Lister snided. He stepped up close behind the hologram, though, and leaned his head against his shoulder. “So, you gonna tell me what’s got you acting like a first class smeghead, then?”
Rimmer didn’t say anything at first, but he did press backwards into Lister, just slightly. Lister took that as a good sign, and stayed quiet for a few more moments, waiting for Rimmer to open up. The hologram wasn’t good at silence. Sometimes it was the best weapon that Lister had. In this case, it worked a charm.
“I’m not going to Earth,” Rimmer finally said.
“What? Why not?”
Lister could feel Rimmer tense up, and before he knew it the hologram pulled away. He walked a few paces, then turned and walked back, fidgeting with his hands all the while. The visible sign of distress hit Lister’s gut like a bowl of dodgy prawns.
“Oh hey…” he finally said. “What’s wrong with Earth, then?”
Rimmer’s brow knit, and it took him a moment to respond. “I know —” he coughed, a needless exercise for a hologram, but a good way to grab an extra moment, to recalibrate one’s thoughts. “I know how important it is to you. I thought I could drop you off and … skedaddle.”
“Rimmer…”
“I can even try to find a pool table to leave you under, something familiar and comfortable.”
“Arn!” Lister interrupted, whacking a fist against the wall with a dull metallic thud. “What’s wrong with Earth?”
“Well, they’re going to shut me off, aren’t they?!” Rimmer practically shouted, then sucked in a few deep breaths. “What was my job? Keep you sane, get you back. Well — job’s done, no more need of ol' Rimsy now, eh?” He gave a hollow laugh.
The thought hadn’t even occurred to Lister. A lot of thoughts didn’t occur to him — he wasn’t dumb, by any means, but he did tend to glide across the surface of an idea without exactly mucking about in the murky depths of it.
Rimmer, on the other hand, excelled at mucking about in conceptual murk. It was one of the only things that came truly natural to him.
“I won’t let that happen,” Lister said. “I’m still gonna need you for my sanity, yeah? If they shut you off, I’d go off my nutter.”
Rimmer scoffed. “Hardly! Oh, it’ll be quite a bummer I’m sure,” he said, briefly falling into a Scouse imitation, “But hey — there’s billions of people to distract you down there, and I’m sure some of them aren’t even massive gits!” A thin, manic smile spread over his face.
Lister stepped forward. “Rimmer, what the hell —”
“So I think I’ll wish you the very best for your future, and, knowing I’m not going to be in it, make the most of things, yes?”
“Rimmer!” Lister snapped, reaching up to grab his shoulders and fighting the urge to shake him. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.”
Rimmer drew himself up as tall as possible, stretching against Lister’s arms. “Please,” he squeaked, “explain to me what part of it was stupid!”
“First thing, there’s no way they’re shutting you off. Get that into your head, right now.”
Rimmer opened his mouth to argue, and then Lister did give him a slight shake. “’s not happening. You’re a totally different hologram than the one they installed on the ship, right? They didn’t even own the light bee, we found that.” He stopped, daring Rimmer to argue. He didn’t, though he still looked doubtful. “You belong to yourself, man, don’t be thick.”
Rimmer looked off to the side, but he did give a small nod.
“And, as for the other bit of stupid,” Lister said, “There’s a lot of people on Earth, sure. And I’m excited to see them. ‘Course I am.” He dropped his hands from Rimmer’s shoulders, letting them slip down to a loose grip around his arms. “But I don’t think any of them could really understand what we’ve been through.”
Rimmer hesitantly looked back at him, then down to the floor. “Lister,” he said, “don’t lie.”
Lister tried not to let himself get angry. He was already pretty worked up — Rimmer knew all his buttons, and had been pushing them with abandon. But he tried to clamp down on the emotion, let it go for right now. He manually told his fingers to loosen, his shoulders to relax. Silence stretched out as he held back the first five or six sentences he wanted to say.
“I’m not lying, smeghead.” He finally said, not able to think of anything else. He pulled Rimmer close, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head against his neck.
They were both silent for a while, Rimmer’s chest swelling and collapsing in deep, unnecessary breaths. It took a few minutes, but eventually the breathing slowed down. The simulated heart rate began to temper. Finally Rimmer pulled away, clearing his throat. “Well …” he said, voice quiet and only slightly rough, “I suppose I’ll be going to Earth, then.”
Lister smiled. “Brilliant.” He kept one hand on Rimmer’s back, and rubbed it in a slow circle. “Kryten’s looking for someone to head the console — wanna do the honors?”
Rimmer nodded. “Yes — alright. Just … wait a moment.”
Lister shrugged, then sank down onto the couch. He patted the spot next to him, and Rimmer cautiously stepped over and sat down. He kept his weight forward, as if ready to jump to his feet at any second.
Lister smirked at him. “I can’t believe you were all prepared to divorce me over something that you thought might happen, maybe.”
Rimmer jumped in his seat. “Wh- d-divorce you?”
Lister shrugged, mock-casual. “We got married, right? I seem to recall it was your idea, even.”
“I — you —” Rimmer sputtered. “You didn’t even take that seriously!”
“If I recall,” Lister said, “you snubbed Ace because you didn’t want to run out on the ol’ ball and chain.”
“I did not! I turned down Ace’s ridiculous demand because it was ridiculous! And — and because he’s a poncy smegging git with all the respectability of a Wham concert orgy.”
“Says the guy married to this,” Lister said, pointing both thumbs at his chest.
“Shut up, shut up!”
An impulse came to Lister — and he was never one to turn down an impulse. “Door,” he called out, and watched the door across the room slide shut. “Lock.”
Rimmer pointed at him, frowning. “You’re certainly not thinking of mmnnf —!”
Lister shoved him back into the couch, pushing up into a kiss. A very exaggerated and performative take that of a kiss, for sure, but that didn’t stop it from being a bit of a thrill, too, especially when long-fingered hands settled on his back, fluttering nervously up and down as the other man finally kissed him back. Rimmer didn’t taste of anything at all — hard light was a strange thing, and either tasted of nothing or, very occasionally, a hint of ozone — and Lister had every intention of snogging him until he could find the echoes of cigarettes on the other man’s breath. He’d done it many times before, and planned to continue doing it for years to come. It was just that much fun.
Rimmer broke the kiss, blearily. “P-packing,” he gasped.
Lister pulled back slightly, grinning. “I don’t care if you were thinkin’ of chickening out,” he said, “We both know that you’ve been packed for days, anyway. And we also both know that I’m not going to get packed until we’re actually walking off this rust-bucket.” He brushed his hands up, then down Rimmer’s chest. “So I figure — either you distract me now, or I get bored and get m'self pissed.”
Rimmer looked affronted, with just a twist of flustered — and that particular mixture was one of Lister’s favorites. “You have to pack. And you’re not getting drunk before we make contact with Earth.”
Lister leaned in. “Nah, and stop me.”
“This is extortion of a superior officer.”
“Oh sod off,” Lister said, enjoying how Rimmer, for all his griping, was tilting his face down just enough for easy access. “You love it.”
-
Kryten made his way down the hall towards Mr. Lister’s and Mr. Rimmer’s room. It had been well over half an hour since Mr. Lister had left to fetch the hologram, and by now they were within range of radio contact with Earth. Indeed, they had already started to receive calls and questions — Red Dwarf was a massive ship, and its unexpected presence was sure to cause quite a stir.
The door was closed and locked when the mechanoid got there. “Really, sir?” he tutted to himself. He almost turned to go back — but no, they needed to have a registered crew member on that radio. And so, reluctantly, Kryten lifted a hand and clanked it noisily against the metal door.
“Mr. Lister and Mr. Rimmer, you are both needed in the drive room!” he said, raising his volume output level to maximum.
There were a few bangs from inside the room, a soft yelp, and a muffled “you smegger! ” — one that Kryten was reasonably certain was not directed at him.
A second later the door slid open. Rimmer stepped out, looking perfectly immaculate — clothes with crisp pressed lines, hair gelled into wiry submission. The door immediately slid shut behind him, cutting off an annoyed cry of “Oi, not ready!” from inside.
“Lister … will be out in half a tick,” Rimmer said, looking anywhere but at Kryten.
“Ah. Good, sir.” Kryten said.
They waited in silence, Rimmer rocking back and forth on his heels like a schoolboy outside the headmaster’s office. Kryten idly wondered if there was anything he could tidy up — but no, he’d given the hallway a good cleaning just that morning, and it was still absolutely spotless.
“I think I’ll go on ahead, yes?” Rimmer finally said. “Make sure that Cat hasn’t unplugged anything important to flatiron his hair?”
“A great idea, sir,” Kryten encouraged. He glanced again at the closed door, and by the time he looked back at Rimmer, the man was ducking around the corner of the hallway.
A full five minutes later, Lister stumbled out of the room, pulling one of his boots on. “Hey, Krytes!” he said with a big grin. Kryten chose not to comment on the fact that, underneath his usual decorated leather coat, his shirt was inside out. “So we’re ready for the big moment, then? Contact Earth?”
“Yes, Mr. Lister, we are in range.”
Lister beamed. “Brutal! Now let’s go make sure Rimmer doesn’t blow it, yeh?” He started briskly down the hall.
Kryten sighed. “I don’t know what you see in him,” he griped quietly to himself, before following.
-
“This is second technician Arnold Rimmer speaking, of the JMC ship Red Dwarf. How do you read me?”
“We read you, Red Dwarf.”
Lister felt a thrill go through him at the very real, very human voice, which was very much from Earth. He was excited enough that he didn’t even hear the next thing the voice said, only Rimmer’s response to it.
“There was an accident, many killed. We have one human on board, a hologram, a mechanoid, and … er,” he glanced back at Cat, frowning. “… one other arguably intelligent lifeform, non human.” He shrugged haplessly, but the Cat seemed pleased enough, shooting him an enthusiastic thumbs up. “We’re requesting a place to dock.”
There was silence on the other end of the radio. Not even the buzz of poor connection — the simple nothing of no response. Lister looked at Rimmer, who seemed vaguely ill, staring intently at the console speaker. Kryten smiled pleasantly, glancing around the room, seeming completely unbothered by the wait.
“So, you think it’s just a bad connection, or —”
“JMC vessel Red Dwarf; you are cleared to dock. We are sending up a relief party to aid you. Please stay on the console until they arrive, it should take less than one hour.”
Whatever Rimmer said in reply was completely overpowered by Lister’s joyful "Whoop!" Both Kryten and the Cat joined him in celebration, and even Rimmer cracked a smile, though he still seemed a touch paler than usual.
“Less than an hour, man.” Lister marveled, slapping a hand to his forehead.
“Yes,” Rimmer said tightly. “And you still haven’t packed.”
Lister rolled his eyes. “You and your packing. What the hell do I need to pack, anyways?” He left the question in the air for just a moment before adding, “… well, my guitar.” Another beat. “I like my shirts too, yeah, guess I should pack those.” Another beat. “Oh smeg, Lennon and McCartney, too, can’t leave them. And where’d I put that pop up Karma Sutra? That’s class; you can’t find it outside of the Jupiter system.”
Rimmer gestured grandly towards the door. Resigned to the task, Lister headed out, shooting Rimmer a quick middle finger on the way, just out of principle.
-
When he got to the room and surveyed the heaps of junk that filled every corner, he came to a realization. It was a truth that probably should have been obvious, but he’d managed to entirely avoid it until this very moment.
He hadn’t put off packing because he didn’t care.
He’d put it off because it was terrifying.
In spite of Rimmer’s missing possessions — presumably in tidy boxes in a tidy stack somewhere — the bunk room still seemed about twice as cluttered as Lister remembered it being.
Even worse — he liked his clutter. He didn’t want it gone. He liked his robotic fish, even though they seemed to break more than they worked, these days. He liked those boots he’d worn out last year — they were smegging good boots, and he still thought he could find a way to patch up the heels if he ever sat down with them and a roll of electric tape. He even liked that bottle top he could see poking out of a sofa cushion — he remembered carefully placing it on Rimmer’s head while the hologram had been prattling on about something dead boring, and waiting to see how long it took him to find it. He never had — it fell off almost four hours later when he’d dozed off on the couch while reading a book about the Spanish Civil War.
Smegging hell. He wanted to pack the bottle top.
He couldn’t do this.
He and Rimmer had moved before, of course — you could only look at the same tiny pocket of a metal cage for so long before you start to go mad, and even a change in paint color could be a godsend after years of ocean grey. But that felt different — if Lister had left a polaroid stuck to an old bunk wall and found himself missing it, it was always just an elevator trip away.
He grabbed an empty box from the pile that Rimmer had helpfully, somewhat passive-aggressively set up near the door, and stepped up to the couch. He picked up the bottle top and flicked it into the box, where it landed with a tiny thk.
He started shoving handfuls of laundry into the box, trying not to think much about it. He’d just shove stuff in boxes until the relief party got there, and then … well, then he’d finally go home.
If he was missing a few things, he’d be fine. He’d be home.
He found a rhythm — grab something, stuff it in a box. Grab something else, stuff it in a box. Box gets full, grab another box. They weren’t pretty, bits and bobs sticking out at all angles, but it was far better than having to think about it.
As he prepared to set aside his third box, the door slid open and Rimmer came in. He took one look at the box in Lister’s hand, and his nose scrunched up. “Good lord,” he muttered.
“Get back to the console,” Lister said, pointing back out the door.
“Kryten took over,” Rimmer explained, brushing at his jacket. “He said he wanted to make a good impression.”
Lister shrugged, then grabbed another handful of something — a blanket. Titan Hilton . He scrunched it up and tried to stuff it into the last crevices of the box, but he couldn’t get the last two corners in. They draped out of the box like a long distended hernia. He ignored it, dropping the box to the ground and kicking it over towards to door.
“You know,” Rimmer said, “things tend to fit better when you fold them.”
“You volunteering to fold my boxers, Rimmer?”
He snorted, crossing his arms. “I would have just sent in Kryten for that. No, I thought I’d provide something much more helpful.” He spread out his hands dramatically. “Supervision.” When Lister failed to look suitably impressed, he added, “Advice. Expertise.”
Lister grabbed the nearest thing to him — a grubby grey shirt — and tossed it at Rimmer. It hit the hologram square in the chest, and he reflexively grabbed the fabric before it could drop to the ground.
“Help out or smeg off,” Lister demanded.
Rimmer pinched the shirt between a thumb and finger, holding it up and away from himself. He glanced over it, frowning. “Do you even wear this anymore?”
Lister shrugged, grabbing another box. “Nah, it doesn’t fit.”
“Then why keep it at all?”
“You can’t throw out Mugsy,” Lister said with no room for argument. “Besides, I’ve been using it as a handkerchief.”
Rimmer yelped, tossing the shirt haphazardly into a nearby box.
“You gonna fold that, Rimsy?” Lister needled.
“Smeg off,” Rimmer said, then grabbed a handful of junk off of a nearby shelf and carelessly dumped it on top of the shirt.
-
The four of them were standing together in the hallway, facing the ship’s hanger. The outer doors had closed almost ten minutes prior, and now they were waiting for the hanger to fill back up with breathable air. It wasn’t a long process; the airlock was bound to open at any moment.
Lister was about to go home.
He glanced over at Rimmer who, characteristically, looked like he’d just washed down a whole lemon with a glass of vinegar. Lister casually nudged him with an elbow, then pulled a face when Rimmer met his gaze. The hologram rolled his eyes, then turned his apprehensive attention back to the hanger doors.
The Cat stood next to a trolley piled high with an extensive matching luggage set. He had woefully declared that he could only fit a paltry 5% of his necessities in these cases, but Lister assured him that the rest of his closet would be dropped off as soon as it could be arranged.
Kryten had also brought a trolley — a much smaller one, laden with a steaming pot of tea, cups, saucers, and even decoratively cut lemons. “I do so want to make a good impression,” he fretted.
“With a head like that? Not likely,” the Cat said, pulling out his mirror as if to ensure that his own head was fit to task.
“Should I have traded out my head for a newer one?” Kryten asked Lister. “Oh, I should have, I knew I was forgetting something …”
Lister shrugged. “Your head’s just fine.”
“Do you really mean that, sir?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
And before anything else could be said, the hanger doors finally slid open.
Three people in matching navy uniforms marched into the hallway. The man at the front had a military air about him — his hair was cropped almost to the scalp and his shoulders seemed about twice as wide as Rimmer’s. He was followed by a tall, severe looking woman with a clipboard and a younger man with a radio. The military man and woman held themselves with extreme composure, but the younger man was clearly losing the battle between professionalism and openly gawking at Cat and Kryten.
“Welcome to Earth,” the large man began in a clipped — but not unfriendly — voice. His accent was distinctly American. “I am Officer Buckner of United Earth Customs. This is Officer Lobsinger and Officer Han.”
“How do you do, sirs and ma’am,” Kryten said, dipping his head. “Tea?”
Buckner blinked at the tray with its lemon spirals. “Thank you — no.” Kryten looked crushed. “Lobsinger and Han will be taking inventory of the ship and examining the black box. You will be coming with me — a shuttle will be taking us down to Earth immediately. I hope you’ll be willing to answer some questions as we go.”
Lister waited for Rimmer to respond, but the hologram didn’t say anything. Glancing over, Lister saw that he was nervously working his jaw, paler than ever. “Uh yeah, cheers,” Lister said. The air felt heavy and flat in the moment that followed, so he added a quick “… sir,” hoping that that would smooth things over.
Lobsinger and Han stepped past them all and down the hall, and Buckner gestured for the crew to follow him into the transport vessel.
The inside of the shuttle was small, but efficient. About a dozen cramped, uncomfortable metal seats squatted around a circular table, with shelves for luggage stretching across the ceiling. It was all dull, grey brushed metal — but Lister couldn’t have been happier to step in.
Cat immediately sank into a seat by the door, and began stacking his luggage delicately into the seats beside him, ignoring the shelves. Kryten ambled happily over to the seat on the far wall. Lister clapped Rimmer on the back, smiling, before lowering himself down onto one of the seats. It felt unreal, knowing that when he stood up again, he’d be on Earth. He grinned at Rimmer again — the man sank into the chair beside him, but didn’t return his gaze. He was staring at Officer Buckner, and his leg jiggled a nervous, racing heartbeat into the corrugated metal floor.
Lister sighed, and poked him in the shoulder. He jumped, then turned to Lister with a scowl. Before Lister could properly tease him, the shuttle gave a hum. Lister glanced around the cabin for a window, finding only a thin stripe of glass stretching between the shelves and the tops of the chairs. It wasn’t wide enough to show much, but he grinned as he saw the grey walls of Red Dwarf’s hanger give way to the deep blackness of space.
Almost there.
Officer Buckner came back into the cabin with a stack of paper, setting it down on the table. “Now that we’re on our way, I'll be conducting the interview.”
What followed was the longest, dullest series of questions that Lister had ever sat through — an incredible thing to say, for a man who spent hours every day in the presence of Arnold Rimmer.
There was a lot of “yes sir,” “no sir,” “radiation leak sir.” He seemed to ask the same questions in different ways, over and over until Lister felt like he was trapped in a time loop. Stranger things had happened to him before.
“And what was the source of the radiation, again?”
Lister glanced at Rimmer, who stared straight ahead. “Well,” Lister said, “It came from a faulty drive plate.”
Officer Buckner frowned, but nodded. Before he could ask a follow-up question, the table jolted slightly.
“Sorry!” Rimmer gasped, pulling his foot back away from the table leg.
Buckner turned to Rimmer, eyebrow raised. “I thought you were a hologram?”
“Hard light,” Rimmer said. Buckner stared at him blankly, but he didn't elaborate any further.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of future tech,” Lister tried to explain. “We got it off some nutter who wanted to take us prisoner.”
Buckner did not look like he understood at all.
“We were 3 million years into the future for a long time there,” Lister added, “Did we tell you that?”
Buckner shook his head.
“It’s from a special light bee, sir,” Kryten tried. “Light bees exist in 2184, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Buckner said.
Kryten clapped his hands with a happy clank. “Oh good — I’m afraid that Series 4000 mechanoids like me weren’t invented until 2340, and I can’t be entirely sure of what technology was available in the 22nd Century.”
“You … were invented in 2340?”
Kryten explained with great gusto his manufacturing details, initial mission onboard the Nova 5, and the legal precedents of android salvage that placed him squarely in Lister’s ownership.
Lister knew that Kryten was fiercely loyal to him, of course, but the idea that he legally “owned” him was unsettling. It was undeniably convenient in this situation, though — because, as Kryten explained, Divadroid Enterprises would likely have a claim to his ownership if Lister wasn't there.
Buckner scribbled down notes, a few extra blinks the only sign of his confusion. “Yes … thank you. But back to the incident — do you have any idea what might have caused the drive plate to malfunction?”
Rimmer flinched visibly, drawing back into himself, and Lister fought back the urge to roll his eyes. He hated it when Rimmer got all turtle-y. “Just disrepair, I guess,” Lister said. “This whole ship would get turned away from a junkyard for being a bit too crap.”
Buckner nodded again, but didn't look appeased by the answer. “Do you know when the drive plate was last serviced?”
Before Lister could think of a proper answer, a buzzing rendition of “Flight of the Valkyries” blared through the cabin. Buckner pulled out a large pager, with a screen that showed Officers Lobsinger and Han. Han awkwardly clutched the black box in both arms, and Lobsinger held a stack of paperwork that threatened to be even more heavy. “We’ve finished our report, sir.” Lobsinger said, seemingly unbothered by the load of paper in her arms.
Buckner nodded in approval. “We’ve almost finished, here. I suppose you probably have the answer I was just asking for —”
“It was me!” Rimmer gasped, standing up awkwardly, banging his knee on the table as he did. He gasped, shaking out his leg and leaning back into the chair, face absolutely ashen. “I did maintenance on the smegging drive plate. It went about as well as the Altamont Free Concert, with three hundred times the casualties.” He croaked out a laugh. “In my defense, I’m an utter, complete gimboid, and no one here thinks I was qualified to even look at a drive plate.”
“He really wasn’t,” Kryten affirmed.
Lister nodded emphatically, and the Cat added, “He’s almost as dumb as he is ugly; and he looks like a used sickbag.”
None of the officers moved or said anything. They just looked at the crew in utter bafflement.
“We’ve got no smeggin’ clue why a vending machine repairman was asked to service a faulty drive plate,” Lister added, hoping it helped.
The pause that followed went straight to Lister’s gut and sat there, heavy.
“...Well,” Buckner finally said, “I think that … clears that up.” He shook his head, and stood up. “Thank you all, for your help. We will be launching a full investigation into this event, and will contact you for more information if needed — but for now, it seems that we’re about ready to make our landing. You must be eager to get outside.”
Lister perked up. The tension that had been growing over the last few minutes left him instantly, and he shot Rimmer a grin. The hologram looked about ready to faint, still, but his chest rose in a full breath, which Lister took as a good sign.
“Please remain seated, and we’ll begin landing protocol.”
Lister’s eyes snapped back to the narrow stripe of window — it was still black, but he could almost convince himself that there was a subtle blue to it, some hint of atmosphere...
He turned back just in time to see Buckner nod at Rimmer. “Thank you for your service, second technician Arnold Rimmer.”
Rimmer’s face blanked. Then his eyes went dreadfully, terribly wide. He barely had time to send one last, fearful look to Lister before he flickered off and his light bee dropped, lifeless, clanking against the cold metal chair.