Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic, and I'm not making any money out of it. :) Yay!

A/N: I have been itching to write this for ages! I thought it'd be really interesting to take a look at Rimmer's point of view when he was regenerated as a hologram, but didn't realise it. We all know how Lister reacted when he was let out of stasis, but what happened to his bunkmate?

This is based more on the novels than the TV show, but they're very similar anyway so that shouldn't pose any problems! Rimmer's death in the novels does not take place in the Drive Room as it does in the TV show, so that explains the beginning of this fic if you haven't read them. :) I hope you enjoy! All comments are much appreciated!

This is the First Day of the Rest of Your Death

---A Red Dwarf Fanfiction---

Three million years after his death, Arnold Rimmer blinked.

Strange, he thought, peering about the room. At first glance, he didn't recognise it. Row upon row of complicated computer consoles lined the walls, buttons beeping, lights flashing on and off in a hypnotic, monotonous manner. A large, grey machine which dominated the chamber chattered noisily before churning out a tiny readout barely bigger than the palm of his hand.

The Drive Room? Why was he in the Drive Room? He certainly couldn't remember going there. There was an eerie silence, and he suddenly felt as if a thousand eyes were upon him, watching and waiting from the shadows of the giant pipes which wound their way up the walls like a metallic, choking ivy. He took a few silent steps forward before it dawned upon him. The last time he had been here, an eager Third Technician, newly enrolled on Red Dwarf and full of boyish enthusiasm, the room had been filled with people; people at the pinnacle of their careers, talking of porous circuits and astrophysics, discussing the very running of the ship itself.

Now it was silent. And it was not just any silence, but an unnerving one. A silence about which something, Rimmer knew for certain, was amiss.

"Welcome back." A voice from nowhere. For a moment Rimmer's heart began to pound, and he clutched his hand instinctively to his chest. Then he realised who it was, and felt rather sheepish. The disembodied voice belonged to Holly, the ship's computer; although there was something different about it. It was more relaxed, less ordered and impersonal, more laid-back and genuine.

"Over here," said Holly. Rimmer turned around to reveal Holly's enormous monitor, the computer's digitalised face pulled into a knowing half-smile. Rimmer only felt even smaller in his presence; coupled with the stillness in the Drive Room, he felt as if he could easily fit on the head of a pin.

"Where the smeg is everybody?" he asked, rather more meekly than he would have liked. Holly thought for a moment.

"Well," he said, mulling it over, his huge eyes narrowing in concentration, "I suppose you could say they're still here." He paused, "If we're talking literally, anyway." Rimmer quickly felt his initial nervousness giving way to slight irritation, but he tried his hardest to keep it hidden. Unfortunately, for Rimmer this was a difficult task.

"Still here?" he repeated, glancing over his shoulder. There was nobody to be seen. He looked back at Holly expectantly. "Well I'd say they were doing a pretty darn good job of hiding themselves!"

Holly rolled his computerised eyes in a perfect circle. It was the same thing he'd done when he'd run the results through his database, searching the files and records of the entire crew for the person most suitable, with the highest compatibility rating, to keep Dave Lister sane. He'd checked once, twice, and for good measure (and in slight hope that he'd made an error in his calculations) a third time, and on each occasion the same result whirred out: ARNOLD J. RIMMER, TECHNICIAN, SECOND CLASS.

"Look," said Holly, trying to reason with him, "I'm not trying to pull the wool over your eyes, but it's a rather…" he searched his file bank for the best word, "…delicate situation."

Rimmer was not one for cryptic clues. "Well however delicate it may be," he said, "I'm sure I am perfectly capable of dealing with it, thank you so very much." When Holly continued to deliberate, Rimmer's surface-calmness quickly disintegrated. "Out with it," he snapped, "before I jam your cables into a cleaning bucket and fry you like an English breakfast." Holly sighed. Why Rimmer? The rare encounters he'd had with him during his long shift aboard the Dwarf were less than pleasant, and usually consisted of a few snappy exchanges, and on occasion, the odd insult. Holly quickly ran a search through his database and found exactly 1,166 crewmembers with whom life would have been a whole lot more bearable. Fate, he decided, was unnecessarily cruel.

"Take a look behind you, Arnold," he said eventually. His core programming stated that the most efficient way to reveal bad news was to reveal it slowly – though whether this data had been corrupted over the years, he didn't know. The mischievous part of him wanted to be extra malicious, and drop the whole bomb, "H" and all, in one fell swoop. That'd show him, he thought, smiling to himself.But luckily for Rimmer, he still had the sense to do otherwise.

Sitting in tiny mounds about the Drive Room were countless piles of white powder. They were scattered so randomly that the effect was as if a manic coffee-drinker had gone for more sugar and repeatedly missed his cup. Some were arranged in pairs, others in large groups; some sat on the chairs and yet more lay messily across the consoles. Before Rimmer had a chance to inquire as to what these mysterious mounds could be, Holly's voice once again filled the chamber.

"The Navigation Officers," he said in a mournful tone. "Over there," he nodded his huge head, "the Console Operators, and here," he turned his head once again, "First Technicians and Catering Officers." He paused, "Though you can't really notice the difference, to tell the truth."

"What?" Rimmer said, rather weakly, trying to come to terms with this huge, indigestible chunk of information. He walked blindly to one of the consoles and stared for a while, eyeing the mounds of dust, at first with great suspicion. "How did this happen?"

If he'd had shoulders, Holly would have shrugged. "Radiation leak," he said. "Cadmium II. Lethal on impact." Holly thought to himself. Those three simple statements equalled the total annihilation of the crew of Red Dwarf. At first, he had been desperately sad. But over the years, the sadness gave way to acceptance and eventually numbness, filling that gaping void with a nonchalance that was slightly shocking. But Holly had been alone for three million years – and he thought he'd gone a bit peculiar, to tell you the truth.

"When?" asked Rimmer. It still hadn't registered. He tried to remember his last night on record. The memory was hazy, as if newly-formed. The only thing he could remember was a corridor, lost somewhere in the bowels of the ship. The wheel of a stasis booth shone brightly in front of him. He'd grasped it with both hands and turned it, heard the familiar cha-chunk of the stasis door opening… and then this. He swallowed, "So everybody…they're all dead?"

"Mostly everybody, yes," Holly admitted.

"Mostly?" Rimmer repeated, his voice twinged with a mix of curiosity and dread. Oh smeg, he thought to himself. It's bound to be him, isn't it. Of all the people…

"Petrovich too, Arnold."

The thought that entered Rimmer's mind when he heard this news made him feel slightly guilty. Petrovich, the trumped-up little goit, the younger, better-looking, all-around good guy waiting for promotion to officer class, cut down in his prime… whilst Arnold Rimmer lived to tell the tale! A small smirk crept upon his face, which he quickly tried to hide with a desperately false grimace. It didn't matter though; Holly knew how he felt. Access to the hologrammatic projection unit gave him unlimited insight into the generated subject; though in this case, Holly wasn't quite sure he wanted it.

"How tragic," Rimmer lied. "So who made it then? The Captain?"

"No, Arnold."

"Well then, who?" Getting irritated again. Holly had had enough; it was time to unleash the first blow.

"Dave Lister," he said smugly.

Rimmer's jaw visibly dropped. Lister? He could understand if it was one of the First Officers, someone high-in-command and worthy of respect, but Lister? The man who ate his own toenail clippings in front of his superior and gave each their own imaginary flavour? The word 'injustice' didn't even begin to suffice. But hey, it could have been worse, Rimmer thought. I could have died as well.

To be continued…

Please review! I'd love to hear what you think of this!