It would be an understatement to say that the Hotel Shangri-La left guests feeling a little disappointed upon arrival. Yet despite its shabby, run-down appearance, Rimmer had certainly not stumbled across the worst possible example that the city had to offer. It was a truth universally acknowledged that the likelihood of finding a quality overnight establishment in London's East End was akin to Jesus conducting his Second Coming in a bingo hall in Swindon.
It was clear that the hotel was clinging precariously to the heady heights of two AA stars. The furniture and décor - which shakily passed itself off with the term 'retro' in the brochure - most likely predated the absurdly young receptionist who sat at the desk, flicking absently through a copy of a trashy magazine.
She didn't acknowledge him as he approached, forcing Rimmer to give a small, polite cough to attract her attention. "Excuse me?" he ventured.
The receptionist sighed, flipping over the next page of her magazine to take in an article entitled 'Is 'Mr Right' right under your nose?'. "Yes?" she tutted impatiently, not even bothering to turn her attention from her reading material.
Rimmer drummed his fingers awkwardly against his thigh. "I don't suppose you have a spare room for the night, please - " His eyes flitted down to the name badge pinned to her shirt, where the name 'Wendy' and the platitude 'Happy to Help' stared back up at him. He correctly suspected that only one of these pieces of information was accurate. " - Wendy?"
The young girl glanced up at him in disgust, as if he'd just asked if she was into dogging as a part-time hobby. She looked him up and down, taking in his wig and bacofoil outfit before flicking back her peroxide-bleached locks. "D'you have a reservation?" she asked sullenly in a thick London accent.
Rimmer tilted his head to see the lines of keys hooked onto the wall behind her. It didn't look as if they were exactly in high demand for providing bed and board. Apart from perhaps a family of mice and other critters of the scurrying kind, judging by the trap set up on the floor below them.
"Erm," Rimmer bit his lip, scratching the back of his neck. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to allow me to stay the night free of charge." At the inevitable raised eyebrow, he continued swiftly. "You see - and bear with me on this one - although I look like a TV character, I'm actually an intergalactic space hero. And thanks to a dimension skid, I'm stuck in this plane of reality without my wallet."
Rimmer chuckled good-naturedly. Wendy chewed on her gum, unimpressed.
"But just for tonight," he clarified quickly. "After all, I wouldn't want to take advantage of your - " his eyes took in her cold scowl, " - kind hospitality for any longer than necessary. And - er - " Words began to fail him as a pink bubble slowly inflated from red-stained lips, growing impressively large. Rimmer angled his head to regain her attention. "It would be rather helpful if perhaps you could assist me?"
Pop. The bubble burst and Wendy sucked the gum back into her mouth. Craning her head back, she hollered through the open doorway behind her. "Simon, call the ol' bill! We've got another druggie nutter!"
Rimmer tried to shush her with soothing hands, his eyes flitting nervously towards the open door. "No no no - I'm not a druggie nutter," he hissed in his normal voice, all Ace protocol lost. After all, if this was how scary the receptionist was, he wasn't keen on incurring the wrath of this 'Bill' character.
He was cut short as a man leaned around the doorframe, clutching a cricket bat in sweaty palms. Rimmer's hands instinctively hovered over the guns holstered under his jacket until he clocked his rather nerdish appearance - a tall, lanky man with a pudding bowl haircut and trousers at least three inches too short, revealing Daz-white socks. He hardly looked like a threat.
The receptionist rolled her eyes at the sight. "Oh bleedin' hell, Simon - " she sighed listlessly.
Simon swiftly joined her at the reception desk gesturing loosely with the bat. "Just take a twenty from the till and be on your way!" he bargained. "We don't want any - "
Suddenly he gasped as he took in Rimmer properly, the hand grasping the cricket bat dropping loosely by his side before allowing it to clatter to the floor. His fingers drew back into excited fists that he clutched to his chest.
"Oh my god," he gushed. "Are you Chris Barrie?"
"Who?" Wendy demanded. Rimmer glanced over his shoulder before returning to the man's expectant gaze. He was glad someone had asked.
Simon chuckled nervously, eyes flitting between Rimmer and the unimpressed receptionist. "It's Chris Barrie," he hissed under his breath. He sighed at her blank look. "Have you not seen Red Dwarf?"
"Nah."
"The Brittas Empire?"
"Nah."
"Tomb Raider?"
Wendy's jaw masticated like a cow, as if chewing over the premise. "The film with that Angelina Jolie bird?"
"Yes."
Wendy popped the gum against the roof of her mouth. "Nah."
Rimmer remained equally flummoxed until a memory from the DVD sleeve politely tapped him on the shoulder to remind him that in this dimension, he was supposed to be Chris Barrie.
"Oh, OH," he clocked. Perhaps this might have been a more pertinent method of gaining freebies rather than claiming he was some sort of space traveller. "Why yes, yes I am," he muttered uncertainly, his voice sliding experimentally up and down the tonal range of his voice. After all, he wasn't entirely sure whether this Barrie chap would put on a voice to 'play' his role or use his natural accent.
Yet the man before him didn't seem to notice, the same manic grin still plastered to his face. "I've got to say - I'm a huge fan of the show. I've got all the series out back," he enthused, indicating with a nod of the head back towards the door behind him. "You must have come from the DVD signing down Oxford Street, right?" Rimmer barely had the time to open his mouth before Simon cut in to answer for him. "Course you have, stupid question. Didn't realise you guys were showing up in costume an' all that. Must have been a right laugh. I was so smegged off I had to miss it today, couldn't swap the shifts you see."
Rimmer blinked twice, noticing a few seconds too late that Simon had in fact stopped blathering and was now watching him with an expectant gaze. "Mm," he offered, non-committal. The less he incriminated himself, the better.
"You looking for a room for the night, squire?" Simon nodded, understanding. "I'm sure I can oblige you. On the house, no worries."
Simon snapped out his arm before him, swirling it into a perfect Rimmer salute before letting it drop down his side once more. Wendy looked torn between bursting into hysterical laughter and calling the police herself to pick up two nutcases. Even Rimmer had to wince at the memory of his old, starched self.
Wendy snorted. "Don'tcha think you ought to run that freebie offer by Mr Evans? In case he's kinda - you know - pissed off with that?"
Simon sighed patiently. "I'm a supervisor, Wendy. You'll notice that it states that on my badge here." He tapped it with a long, slender finger, flashing a knowing look at Rimmer who returned it with a diluted smile. Wendy seemed less impressed, embarking on blowing yet another large bubble.
Simon continued, unflustered. "And as such, I think you'll find that I have certain Supervisor privileges that I'm afraid you're not privy to. Check your Employee Handbook. Page 86, section four, clause six clearly states that Supervisors have sufficient rank to provide free accommodation to VIPs, especially if it should it be deemed to raise the profile of the hotel."
In the awkward silence that followed, Rimmer inwardly slapped a palm to his forehead. He had a horrible feeling that this weed of a man based his misplaced sense of authority on his old self, seeing them as enviable heights, not a basis for comedy. He shuddered at the self-recognition.
Pop. "Whatever," Wendy chewed. She turned her attention to the computer before her and began to hammer at the keyboard with acrylic nails so long that Rimmer was slightly bemused how she could even type with them. "How's Room 205 then? Honeymoon Suite." She turned to Simon with a snide smile. "At least then you can kiss arse in private."
Simon had indeed waived the fee for the room. However in return, Rimmer did have to sign quite a number of papers, as well as some dog-eared books emblazoned with Red Dwarf's old ship logo. This was too weird for words.
The décor of the Honeymoon Suite was an echo of the reception, yet displayed the odd token of a 'deluxe' upgrade. The pillows weren't so thin that they required folding in half before they were comfortable enough to sleep on (the JMC had been quite a fan of that one) and a small TV and DVD player sat on the writing desk, although the technology looked a little ancient even for this time period.
Beside the double bed, two glasses and a dusty bottle of wine sat in silent expectation. Rimmer correctly concluded that the aged look of the wine bottle didn't necessarily reflect the refinement and class of the beverage within. Instead, it was far more likely that it had simply been many, many months since anybody had stayed in this room.
It was hardly a shock. Clearly anybody rich enough to aspire to a 'deluxe' honeymoon suite wouldn't be willing to actually pay for a rundown hotel such as this one; a hotel based in a neighbourhood where walking out and about after dark reduced your life expectancy rather significantly.
Flopping himself down on the bed, Rimmer exhaled deeply. The DVD of Red Dwarf: Series VII lay waiting on the pillow beside him, face down. Craning his head, he could just about make out the intriguing spiel:
After a temporary bout of deadness, the Dwarfers find themselves solving one of the biggest conspiracy plots of all time, before Ace Rimmer drops in with the challenge of Rimmer's life. Meantime Kryten gets seriously tetchy and Lister has one of the hottest screen kisses ever. Pity it's not with the girl of his dreams. Pity it's not with a girl.
Rimmer snorted in amusement as he opened the DVD case. He wouldn't be surprised if Lister had gotten himself into a romantic entanglement with a GELF again. Something small yet insistent flared in his chest at the memory, but it was too cryptic to decipher and he dismissed it just as swiftly.
He started where he - literally - left off, with the episode that documented his departure as Ace. The show began by depicting one of his predecessor's many heroic exploits; mounting a daring mission to rescue the Princess Bonjella. Most likely before mounting her, Rimmer sulked with a matching scowl.
How come that Acegot to rescue the blonde with the nice tits when he got lumbered with saving the tribal princess of the Kinitowawi clan? Arguably yes, Khakhakhakhakhak had been a lovely conversationalist. But squashed together in Wildfire's tiny cockpit, it could be said that she had taken slight advantage of their cramped conditions…
After the opening credits had rolled, the action shifted to one of Lister's many experiences in AR, a realm of fantasy he'd often escape to during the boring, dreary days aboard Starbug. Rimmer recalled how he would slope off in the direction of the AR suite at least twice a week, sprouting some cock and bull nonsense about playing the games to 'broaden his cultural horizons'. Everyone else silently accepted it was because he was horny as hell and wanted to release some tension by having a quick shag.
"I've used up this year's water supply with ice-cold showers, Kryten. I was looking at the log this morning: 112 gallons! If I carry on like this my libido's gonna cause a drought."
It was…strange seeing Lister again. As soon as he heard the cocky challenges and Scouse-toned banter, he could recall that familiar sense of irritation, akin to fingernails down a chalkboard.
And yet - and yet, something else in his chirpy, hamster-like grins and cheeky winks tugged at something buried deep inside him. It was a pleasurable pain; that reminiscent joy upon seeing a photograph of someone you'd once lo- known after such a long time, but equally comprehending that you would never see them again.
The action shifted to Starbug's frenzied dance of panic, the tiny ship caught in a storming energy pocket. Rimmer groaned to himself. He knew exactly who was about to put in an appearance. And after witnessing sickening levels of smug gittiness earlier, his arrival required, no, demanded a glass of anything alcoholic on standby. His eyes wandered over to the bedside table where the dusty bottle of wine sat. He eyed it critically.
Ever the sensible man that he was, Rimmer kept his pouring steady and measured. Just a drop, he told himself. After all, he wanted to remain the very portrait of maturity and self-restraint if he was going to be forced to re-watch this episode of his life.
"Well I said I'd be back for breakfast. How are those kippers doing, fellas?"
The bottle quickly tilted up to allow the glass to fill to the brim, the sound of his double's head/desk interaction punctuating the glugging rhythm. Screw moderation. It was a medical smegging necessity.
Three large medical necessities and a couple of episodes later, Rimmer had already learned more than he'd ever hoped to.
Kochanski was back. Oh smegging joy of joys. He'd hardly been gone for five minutes and the creator in this reality felt the need to replace him with a stuck up set of curves. Had Starbug been fitted with some bloody revolving door or something? One out, one in? Perhaps that's how karma worked in this universe.
He'd also witnessed, much to his horror and embarrassment, that it had been Lister in that bloody knight's outfit all along. Admittedly, he had wondered why the King of Camelot had welcomed such a short, stumpy addition to his table, but he couldn't say that he'd ever twigged it before. What unsettled him most was the realisation that such a momentous burst of encouragement the fight had kindled had in fact all been a ploy. If the event that inspired him to become Ace had all been a lie, then what the hell did that make him now?
And by some freak of nature, space and time itself, David Lister was his own father. A self-created entity. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the premise he'd learned when they'd gone 'back to reality' - that Lister was in fact God himself. It was a staggering idea to take in - that a slobby, semi-literate space bum could in fact be a timeless, all-knowing deity. Talk about working class kid makes good.
But of course, everything came back to Lister - as if he were the centre of a universe around which everything revolves. Part of him felt incredibly bitter about this notion. Another part of him felt like it made complete and utter sense, as if something deep down had accepted this concept long ago.
Rimmer took a long hard swig from his glass of wine. This was all a bit too metaphysical for his liking.
The episode Blue, of which he was now partaking, made for very awkward viewing. Lister was clearly in love - or thought he was in love - with Kochanski. Kryten couldn't stand the sight of her. And the tension in the air, borne from Kochanski's anger and frustration at not being able to get back to her home dimension, was almost unbearable.
It was hardly surprising that they almost got themselves splattered across deep space by a passing comet. The weight on board Starbug was too great - clearly with far too many words unsaid it seemed. He suspected that jettisoning some junk wasn't going to be enough.
"Look, I'm gonna check out the hold. Rimmer, man. You coming?"
The wine glass slowly sank from his mouth as Rimmer stared openly at the TV screen. The others slowly turned to face him.
"Did I say - ?" Lister seemed just as surprised as he did. The pair slowly nodded as the audience tittered nervously in the background. "Why did I call you 'Rimmer'? I called you 'Rimmer', my god! Cat - are you gonna make yourself useful or are you just gonna preen yourself all day?"
Rimmer tapped a finger against the stem of his glass, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. That was…odd.
The moment was swiftly forgotten as, with a wrench in his chest, the scene changed to the Cat and Lister, sitting cross-legged in the midst of a sea of boxes and treasures. The things he'd had to leave behind.
"You know, he had lots of funny little habits. But now he's gone I can see them for what they were."
The people he'd left behind.
"Cretinous."
The person he'd left behind.
"No," Lister chuckled. "Little human foibles that made Rimmer - " he paused, searching for the right word , "- special. He was unique."
Rimmer felt a rush of warmth that he was sure hadn't come from the wine. It's always a strange and disconcerting sensation to hear others talking about you when they're convinced you're not listening. But this? This was just surreal.
"He won't throw any of this stuff away cos it reminds him of all the good times he had with Rimmer," the Cat confided to Kryten before shrugging resignedly. "I must have blinked and missed 'em!"
Lister missed the joke. "You don't know what we used to do on Red Dwarf back in the early days."
Rimmer snorted - he remembered the early days alright. He watched the action on the screen turn to one of their many Locker Room games and emptied the last of the bottle of wine into his glass. Perhaps he'd forgotten the dark months before they'd found Kryten. The times before the Cat showed any interest in socialising with them, beyond demanding to be fed or napping on their bunks.
Before they'd managed to secure a hold on their situation or gathered together a sense of purpose and direction. The crushing boredom and loneliness. The unexpected moments of panic and fear that would overwhelm each of them in turn.
He could remember the sleepless nights lying awake in the dark, hearing Lister sobbing quietly to himself in the bunk above. He'd simply lie there, as still and silent as the ghost he was, pretending he was asleep. Lister probably knew all too well that Rimmer could hear him. Perhaps he was embarrassed. Or perhaps it was enough to know that even though he was stranded alone in a vast and empty universe, at least someone was listening.
Rimmer blinked in surprise as the scene shifted to Lister lounging in the cockpit of Starbug as Ace beamed in behind him, unnoticed. He swallowed as the man strode silently into the cockpit and peeled off the wig.
No - it was him.
Lister was understandably surprised at his sudden, unexplained appearance. Yet his TV self seemed unfazed, happy to explain.
"I got fed up of adventuring," he sighed. "You know what it's like - you save a couple of civilisations and it all gets a bit samey." He smiled warmly. "I thought I'd come and find the old team."
Rimmer shook his head loosely as he sat up straighter. No - there was something wrong. This hadn't happened, he'd never gone back. He'd hoped and prayed and dreamed of returning, but never had the balls to actually go through with it. After all, he'd become Ace to get away from the confusion over his feelings about Lister. To return now would be - he stopped as he tried to detangle the conundrum that had knotted in his mind. Crazy. Wonderful. Terrifying.
A horrible thought grasped him by the stomach. Perhaps this was what Noddy had been referring to - that he, the 'original' Rimmer, had left, and this impostor on the screen had followed in his footsteps, usurping his rightful place.
"It's good to see you," Lister offered.
Rimmer released a shuddered breath. It was good to see him too, he conceded silently as he traced the outline of his jaw with sad, dark eyes. He felt inexplicably jealous of his other self as he wove a tale he knew to be false, watching Lister becoming wilfully entangled in the lies.
"I - um - I hear you've got a new crewmember."
Ohhh yes indeed. Kristine-smegging-Kochanski. No sooner was he out the door, someone else had walked in to replace him.
"She's pretty attractive though, isn't she?"
"Is she?" Lister shrugged. "I hadn't really noticed. She's the type you don't really notice."
An ugly scowl overtook Rimmer's face. Liar.
"So, she's... not as attractive as me, then?"
Rimmer spluttered on his drink, a hand clamped urgently to his mouth as if he feared a similarly direct remark would escape his own. That question seemed so left field that it could have been from the next galaxy.
"Don't be daft... she couldn't hold a candle to you, man."
He blinked unsteadily. And that answer probably resided with it.
"Nah, you're just saying that," Rimmer batted back humbly.
"I'm not," Lister insisted sincerely. He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "I missed you, man."
What?
His other self was suddenly deadly serious. "And I've missed you too, Listy."
Double what?
"Ohh, Arnold, man…"
"Dave…"
Rimmer's head swam dizzy, watching in utter disbelief as Lister rushed out of his seat towards the returning hero, his breath quickening as his other self gathered him up in his arms, embracing him fiercely.
"Don't ever leave us again!"
"I won't! I won't!"
"You promise?"
The platitudes and the desperate pledges came fast and furious, the entire exchange seeming caught in a strange cinematic parody. Rimmer's fingers quivered with restrained excitement and fear, and he curled them back, silencing them into tight fists. Although the action before him reflected his innermost desire, the entire act felt theatrical, staged, and exaggerated. As if it were a -
"Ohh, Listy…"
"Ohh, Rimmsy…"
Ohh, no way…
With their faces only inches apart, Rimmer watched as the pair succumbed to feelings clearly beyond their control. His hands covered his open mouth as slowly, but surely, their lips joined in a kiss.
The resulting stunned yells of surprise were entirely mutual. Just as the Lister on the screen fell from his bunk - wrenched to reality with the force of the shock - Rimmer scrambled back as far away from the screen as he could, trembling visibly against the pillows.
"It was just a dream," Lister told himself and the euphoric audience. "Just a dream."
OH SMEG.
Rimmer only just made it to the bathroom in time, dry-retching and hyperventilating at the sink. Upon such a momentous discovery, the resulting rush of emotions had been far too great; a collective sense of pure, undiluted revelation that hit him square between the eyes.
It wasn't disgust - or if it was, it was only at his own stupidity for not having worked it out earlier. No - it was far stronger than that. It felt like…
…mourning.
It was a sudden onslaught of grief and loss and heartache; the intensity of comprehending, all in one hologrammatic breath, that he'd simultaneously found and then lost something. Someone.
And as he pieced together the various scenes depicting Lister's loneliness and depression over the last couple of episodes, he felt a horrible sense of realisation. It hit him with all the force of a tidal wave, thundering through his very being.
Lister hadn't encouraged him to become Ace because he wanted to get rid of him and his irritating habits.
Despite how much it had pained him, Lister had wanted him to be happy. He'd pushed him to escape the drudgery and hopelessness of their lives together and seize the chance to become the hero he'd always wanted to be.
Rimmer dragged his hands down his face and sighed. Smeg, he wasn't drunk enough for this.
