Chapter Text
Rimmer: Rimmer's low self and high self both seem to identify as homosexual. This bothers him, as does Lister's admiration for his parallel personality, Ace. Why?
Rimmer didn't give it much thought at first. Being rudely awakened by noises from Dave Lister was an occupational hazard of being his bunkmate. Infuriating but expected.
But after a while he started to notice ... things. Lister was definitely avoiding him during the daytime. To a certain extent that was normal, but Rimmer's upbringing had given him an acute sense of degrees of avoidance. This had ratcheted up several notches.
Lister was quieter than usual, and the dreams he was having were out of the ordinary. Usually sleeptalking, for him, was limited to the occasional "Oh smeg yes, Kris!". Now he seemed to be having nightmares.
Or rather, one recurring nightmare.
The first time Rimmer heard his name pass his sleeping bunkmate's lips, it took him a moment to work out what was wrong about it.
Since when was Dave Lister scared of Arnold Rimmer, even in a dream?
"Sir, I'm really not sure about this."
"For the last time, Space Corps Directive 5673 clearly states that a superior may waive privacy considerations at their discretion if an inferior is suffering physically or psychologically, providing the purpose is to discover the cause of that suffering."
"I think you'll find that's Space Corps Directive 5672, sir. 5673 is..."
"Kryten, I don't care what ludicrous drivel you're about to spout. The point is, Lister is having nightmares and I want to find out why." At Kryten's quizzical look, he added impatiently: "Because the smegger's keeping me awake".
"With respect, sir, why don't you just sleep in another room?"
Rimmer stuttered, blinking. "Because ... because that room is mine! I had it first! It was assigned to me by the JMC and I'm not leaving it for anyone."
"Apologies, sir. It's just I've been wondering."
"You're getting way too big for your boots, Kryten. And why aren't you worried about Lister?"
"I am, sir. I'm just not sure you watching his dreams is the solution. Maybe he just needs to try a different type of curry."
"This isn't indigestion, you stupid bog-bot. Sadly I've bunked with him more than long enough to know the difference. Stop arguing and turn it on. And give me voice control."
After a short battle with his programming, the mechanoid did so. Rimmer extracted his promise of silence and dismissed him.
"Hello, my pretty."
Rimmer gaped as the - apparition - strutted down a flight of steps, displaying gangly fishnetted legs. That was supposed to be part of him? Impossible. As though he would be seen in public half naked - outside the bunkroom, anyway.
That doesn't count.
"What do you want with me?" Lister sounded as though he didn't really want to know. Neither did Rimmer.
"I want to hurt you." OK, that's not much of a surprise. It could have been worse.
"Why?"
Rimmer rolled his eyes. Poor naive Listy, always expecting the best of people.
The - thing - moved closer, allowing Rimmer to take in its appearance. Piercings, feathers ... eyeliner, for smeg's sake! But the over the top outfit was undercut by the attitude, reminiscent of a hunter eyeing prey.
"Because," - pregnant pause - "I'm not a very nice person." Rimmer cringed as the - creature - produced something he vaguely recognised as a holowhip, raised it into the air and struck Lister in the face.
"I'm going to lash you to within an inch of your life. And then ... I'm going to have you."
Rimmer fell through his chair.
He landed in a heap, the safety measures built into his software kicking in to stop him from falling through the whole ship and out into space.
His mind in a whirl, he barked "Pause!" at the screen. He winced as it froze on a close-up of - it - leaning over a cowering Lister, tongue waggling lasciviously.
He turned away from the screen and tried to think.
What had it done to Lister? Did he want to know?
But it couldn't have, his subconscious protested. It's incorporeal, like me. Unless ... the holowhip...
Rimmer shuddered. Surely not, or Lister wouldn't just be avoiding him. He'd probably have turned him off straight away.
He briefly considered rewinding the tape and pretending none of this had ever happened. No - there was no way he could stop now. Not without finding out.
Cautiously, he started the recording again, immediately putting it on slow fast-forward. A grotesque pantomime played out on the screen as all four Lows took it in turn to torment Lister. Rimmer couldn't help feeling relieved though that very little actual touching was involved.
But then there didn't need to be. He uneasily recognised the remote control device that had forced the Scouser to try to murder his shipmates. At the time, still exhilarated by their escape from the Lows and recovery of Red Dwarf, it had seemed funny to subsequently use it to make Lister hurt himself.
How were we to know? It was Cat's idea anyway.
Kryten had stepped in after a few minutes and Lister had retreated to the cockpit in a sulk. Or so Rimmer had assumed at the time.
He let out a sigh of relief as the picture shifted from the Lows' disgustingly grimy Drive Room to a corridor. The High versions of himself and Lister ambled along, chatting amiably as though they were on their way to a yoga class instead of in mortal danger.
Stupid hippies. Still, after what he'd just witnessed, the sight was almost comforting.
"Play."
"Have I told thee today how much I love thee, brother? How much my heart glimmers like a newborn star when I gaze upon thine beauteous countenance?"
High Rimmer smiled beatifically. "Thy love refreshes and cleanses me like a babbling mountain stream, brother."
"Wha...? Pause!"
Rimmer only realised how quickly he was breathing when he began feeling dizzy. Unwilling to risk the chair again, he spread his long limbs out on the carpet. Recalling the crash procedure from their encounter with Ace, he tilted his head forward, placed his hands behind his neck and concentrated on breathing in and out.
That means nothing. Nothing at all. It's just touchy-feely smeg.
Unable to contain his curiosity, he continued watching. A gagged Lister, knife concealed behind his back, approached the High duo.
"Mmphh! Mmmphhh!" His eyes bulged helplessly as his hand brandished the knife.
"A knife! Are you hungry, brother?"
"I have some pulses and a little curd for your refreshment."
Rimmer groaned in disbelief. Exactly how stupid were they? But his scorn turned to shock as Lister's knife slashed at his double. Ugly scarlet patches appeared, marring the pure white of his robe.
"Forgive me, brother. I appear to have stained thy knife-end with my blood. A thousand apologies." With that, High Lister collapsed, all too clearly dead or dying.
Rimmer heard his alternate's reaction with incredulity. "Brother, permit me to furnish you with a fresh knife."
He watched with mixed feelings as High Rimmer's light bee was crushed and he faded and vanished.
People that brainless deserve to die.
Still, he couldn't pretend it was pleasant seeing two beings identical to himself and Lister destroyed. Especially by Lister, who had neglected to mention this turn of events to him. I wonder if he told Cat or Kryten?
He studied the freeze-frame of his bunkmate's horrified face and felt a pang of sympathy. Listy wouldn't care that the two idiots would have ceased to exist in a matter of minutes anyway. This was the man who wouldn't even shoot an unarmed but psychopathic simulant in the back.
So ... what do I do now?
Suddenly realising he had no idea, he reactivated the tape. A kaleidoscope of images and sounds assaulted his senses. The Lows, sneering and grunting. The twisted version of himself, whipping Lister and leering obscenely at him. High Lister, slumping to the ground. His own counterpart, image sputtering and dying.
Eventually the screen cleared, briefly fading to black. Then, as though a curtain had been pulled back, a new scene began.