EPILOUGE
Holly navigated Starbug back to the Red Dwarf docking bays with minimal amounts of damage to hull with its usual haphazard landing. Starbug glided to its place and lowered itself to the floor. Once the transport ship had safely landed, Kryten held out his hands to help Lister to his feet.
Lister was unresponsive to Kryten's gesture at first and it was a full minute before he realized that he was being offered assistance. Lister raised his arms limply to meet Kryten, who gently pulled Lister to his feet. As soon as Lister was standing, his knees buckled and his legs gave out under him. Kryten and Cat caught him under his arms and lifted him back up. Lister seemed incapable of mobility on his own free will, so Kryten and the Cat walked with Lister between them out of Starbug and into Red Dwarf, practically carrying Lister as his useless legs dragged behind him.
"Man, it's quiet in here now!" exclaimed the Cat as they hauled Lister through one of the long corridors.
"Mr. Cat!" Kryten cried, inclining his head slightly towards the unresponsive Lister. "Please—do try to be more sensitive."
Outside the sleeping quarters, Kryten and Cat paused to steady Lister, who was insisting that they let him walk on his own.
"Are you sure, sir?" said Kryten cautiously.
"Yeah," said Lister vaguely. "I want to be on me own for awhile."
Kryten and Cat released Lister, and he stumbled down the corridor and turned around the corner. Lister stopped suddenly. He didn't feel too good. He swayed where he stood. The corners of his vision became fuzzy as blackness closed in over his eyes. He felt his body folding in on itself as he crumpled to the floor. He was out cold from complications of his physical exhaustion and his crippling grief.
Lister blearily opened his eyes and saw a familiar white tiled ceiling above him. His head hurt. His back hurt. His eyes heart. His stomach hurt. His heart hurt. His whole body hurt. Even his big toe hurt.
Where am I? he meant to ask, but no words came out. He agonizingly turned his head to the left and saw that he had an IV to his arm and that he was also hooked up to a biofeedback computer. He was in the medical unit once again. He turned his head to the right and saw Kryten standing beside his bed. Kryten was wearing a stethoscope and was listening to his heartbeat. Kryten removed the stethoscope from around his neck and set it aside. Lister let his muscles stay limp and allowed Kryten to lift his left arm and slide a blood pressure monitor up his arm and fasten it. Kryten pressed a button on the monitor handset and he felt the monitor strap tighten until he could feel his heart pumping in his arm. After a few painful seconds the band loosened and the pain dispersed.
Kryten jumped when he realized that Lister was now awake and watching him intently.
"Oh, Mr. Lister!" Kryten exclaimed in relief. "You're awake! I was beginning to get a bit worried—you've been out for twelve hours! How are you feeling, sir?"
Lister didn't respond, but maintained a stony expression. He seemed to have misplaced his voice, as well as any function in his facial muscles.
"Of course you don't feel well," said Kryten sympathetically in Lister's silence. "But I would like to say that I am very proud of you, Mr. David. What you did was not easy. It was a selfless act, and I want you to know that I think you did the right thing."
Lister didn't even nod his head to acknowledge Kryten, who was becoming concerned that Lister might of somehow become paralyzed or lost function of his muscles from lack of use.
"If it's any consolation," said Kryten, who was now shining a small light into Lister's unblinking eyes. "I once heard a saying that I think holds great significance to your situation, sir. It goes something like this: 'If you truly love someone, you'll let them go.'"
Lister's expression remained vacant and dead.
Kryten realized that Lister must not be in the mood to talk, so he continued on with his one-sided conversation.
"I've hooked you up to the biofeedback computer," Kryten unnecessarily informed him as he bustled over to the computer and seized the data print-out. "The report tells me that the last few days have taken a serious toll on your physical well-being. You are severely dehydrated and have numerous vitamin and mineral deficiencies. I've got you hooked up to this IV to replenish your body with the fluids and nutrients that you need."
Lister remained stubbornly silent and unresponsive, staring unblinkingly at a place on the opposite wall.
"I was going to remove your staples today," Kryten continued. "As is the usual procedure to remove staples three days after surgery. But under the circumstances and judging by the looks of the incision, I thought it wise to leave them in at least another day. The wound doesn't look like it's completely sealed itself yet. But don't worry—under my care you'll be recovered and up and about in no time."
Lister still seemed as though he was in a vegetative state. "You're doing exactly what you should be doing, sir," Kryten continued. "You have greatly overexerted yourself the past couple of days. You need a few days of good solid rest to aid in your recovery."
Kryten went to the medical utility cabinet and came back with an oral thermometer. "Open," he instructed. Lister did nothing. Kryten carefully pulled down on Lister's chin until his mouth was open wide enough to insert the thermometer under his tongue.
"Now close," said Kryten, gently pushing Lister's chin up so his mouth closed.
"Here, let me fluff up your pillows, sir," said Kryten. "Sit up."
Lister robotically sat up in bed just enough for Kryten to lift the pillows out from behind him. Kryten plumped up the pillows and returned them. "Congratulations, sir! Your first movement in hours! You can sit back down now."
Lister laid back down, his head sinking in and imprinting its shape into the newly fluffed feather pillow.
The thermometer began to beep, signifying that it was done reading Lister's temperature. Kryten slid the thermometer out from between Lister's teeth and held it up to the light to read it.
"Hmm, thirty-seven point six degrees Celsius," said Kryten. "You have a bit of a fever, sir. Perhaps you will feel better after a nice glass of cold water. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Kryten bustled out of the room and returned a moment later with a glass of water. Lister didn't seem to notice that Kryten had left the room or returned for that matter.
Kryten gently pushed on Lister's back, forcing him to sit up. He tilted Lister's head back and pressed the glass of water to his lips, forcing him to take a sip.
Lister allowed a small amount of water into his mouth before he closed his lips firmly, causing the rest of the water to spill out over the rim of the cup, down the sides of his mouth and onto his bed sheets.
"You need more water than that, Mr. Lister!" said Kryten fussily. "You need to drink water—you are dehydrated! How can you ever expect to get better?"
Lister didn't want to get better. Not yet. He was content wallowing in his own misery and self-pity. He wanted to physically hurt as well as emotionally hurt. He didn't deserve to feel good yet. Maybe he needed someone to depend on, to wait on him hand and foot for the time being. He felt like it was his turn to be the child while someone else was a parent to him. This was his way of mourning.
…
"I cannot believe you just sat there and let them walk out on us," said Wilma.
"At least I can walk around the house in my underwear again!" Fred exclaimed.
He's watching The Flintstones again, Rimmer thought bitterly as he marched towards the medical unit to check in on Lister for the tenth time that day. The man was such a child. He'd been having a non-stop Flintstones marathon for the last twenty-four hours. As soon as one tape was done, Lister would instruct Holly to put in another one. Rimmer swore that he would rather suffer a second painful death than hear "Yabba dabba doo!" one more time.
Lister hadn't even bothered to take his attention from the vid screen when Kryten had removed his staples that morning. Lister even left the show on at night. He claimed that it helped him sleep. But it didn't keep Lister from tossing and turning all night. It didn't stop his nightmares. He would wake himself up several times a night, either drenched in a cold sweat or with tears streaming down his face, sometimes he had both.
At least Lister was capable of speech today. Yesterday they had to try to understand some new form of sign language Lister had invented to communicate with them, that was mostly coordinated by blinking, snapping his fingers, pointing, or tugging on his earlobe.
Rimmer paused in the doorway with his hands akimbo and stared at Lister disdainfully.
Lister was sitting up in bed propped up by numerous pillows, his shadowed, bloodshot eyes fixed on the vid screen as though in a trance and he badly needed a shave. He was still hooked up to the biofeedback computer, which was constantly monitoring his vital stats. He had numerous IVS dispensing fluids into his bloodstream. Kryten insisted that Lister got the nutrients he needed through these tubes, because Lister refused any of the food Kryten brought him, or he would push the food around on his tray to make it look as though he had eaten something just to satisfy Kryten. He might have eaten if it was chicken vindaloo, but Kryten would only bring him foods that were high in vitamins and other nutrients that Lister considered only worthy to be used as pig slop.
No, what really bothered Rimmer about Lister right now was that he had a can of lager in one hand and a lit cigarette tucked in his ear for safekeeping, smoke clouding the air around his head.
"Lister!" exclaimed Rimmer, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Don't tell Kryten," mumbled Lister, taking a long draw from his cigarette, holding it in for a few seconds, and exhaling through his nostrils, the white smoke curling up into the air. He stuck the cigarette back in his ear and drank from his can of lager.
"Of course I'm going to tell Kryten!" Rimmer cried. "Lister, you know that you're not supposed to drink any alcohol while you're on your pain medication!"
"This is my pain medication," said Lister, tilting his head back and pouring lager into his mouth.
"And I thought that you'd given up on smoking!"
Lister shrugged, taking a long draw from his cigarette. "Obviously I didn't."
"It's only that I thought that maybe there was a change in you," said Rimmer. "You do know what those things to do you, don't you? You may as well be ingesting rat poison."
"I know," said Lister. "And to be quite honest, I don't care."
"I just thought that maybe you has actually started to care about the health of your body."
"Well, you were wrong," said Lister, tapping the end of his cigarette against the rim of a kidney bowl that he was using as a makeshift ashtray.
"You were able to go cold turkey for more than a week," said Rimmer. "You proved to yourself that you could do it. Why start again now?"
"I didn't quit for me," said Lister. "Right now, I honestly couldn't care less what happens to me."
"Listen to yourself!" said Rimmer. "Mr. Depression or what?"
Lister reached underneath his sheets and Rimmer knew that Lister was scratching at his incision again.
"Stop that!" Rimmer barked.
"I can't," said Lister miserably. "It itches."
"Absolutely pathetic," tutted Rimmer. "You're going to have to talk about it sooner or later, Listy. You need closure. No one who ever lived has been through everything you have—it's like you lived eighteen years and nine months of your life in less than two weeks. You won't feel better until you talk to someone about it!"
"You wouldn't understand," said Lister quietly.
"I think I know how you feel, Dave," said Holly solemnly. "I had to leave someone pretty special behind, too."
"Be that as it may, Holly—I'm sure that you'll only succeed in making things worse. I'll get us started then, shall I?" said Rimmer, clapping his hands together. "I wonder what they're doing right now—"
"Rimmer-"
"How does all this make you feel?" Rimmer continued, tapping his chin. "You're really crushed, aren't you?"
"Leave me alone."
"Do you miss them terribly?"
"Rimmer! I don't want to talk to you about it, okay?" Lister said. "Please—just leave me alone and let me watch me show."
Rimmer reluctantly left Lister to go find the Cat and Kryten. He circled the ship, checking every room where they usually spent their time, until he found them in the Drive Room.
"Well?" said the Cat expectantly as Rimmer entered the room. "How'd it go?"
"He refuses to talk about it!" exclaimed Rimmer bleakly. "He's acting as though he forgot all about them—like none of it ever happened!"
"Oh, poor Mr. Lister," said Kryten sympathetically. "Just imagine how he must feel!"
"Sometimes silence is the strongest form of grief," said the Cat astutely.
"Why, Mr. Cat—I never knew that you possessed such great wisdom!" exclaimed Kryten.
"Yes, where did you get that from, you gimboid?" said Rimmer, who was unable to believe that he had just heard those words come out of Cat's mouth. "No way did you ever come up with that on your own."
"Oh, I read it off the back of this book here!" said the Cat brightly, holding up a volume titled How To Cope With Grief.
"I should've known," said Rimmer, shaking his head. "You truly are a creature of rare intelligence, Cat."
"Really?" said the Cat hopefully.
"Yes," said Rimmer. "You rarely show any."
"What are we going to do about Mr. Lister's condition?" asked Kryten. "I don't know how much longer I can stand seeing him like this. I do love serving and caring for him day and night—it is my greatest joy. On the other hand, I would give anything to see that chirpy, whimsical smile again."
"Well, Kryten," said Rimmer. "You and I have both been unsuccessful in consoling Lister. Perhaps it takes more of a simpleton to cheer him up."
Rimmer looked around the room for a candidate. "Ah—Cat. How would you feel about volunteering?"
"What am I supposed to do?" asked the Cat.
"Oh, I dunno," said Rimmer, shrugging. "Slap some sense into him or something."
…
"We'll have a gay old time!"
"Holly," Lister called, sitting up in bed as The Flintstones credits finished rolling and the screen went black. "Put in the next vid, will you?"
"That's it, Dave," said Holly. "I'm afraid you've watched every episode."
"Start it from the top again, then," said Lister tiredly.
"Okay, Dave," said Holly, loading the first ever episode of The Flintstones. Lister sank back into his bed of pillows, satisfied, as the familiar show tune started up again.
At that moment, Cat decided to visit Lister in the medical unit.
"Hey, buddy!" said the Cat cheerfully, standing in front of the vid screen. Lister leaned over to the right to try to see past Cat. Cat slid to his left so he was blocking Lister again. Lister leaned to his left and the Cat moved over so he was blocking Lister once again.
"Do you mind?" said the Cat, reaching behind him to switch off the monitor.
"Hey!" Lister cried. "I was watchin' that!"
"And I was trying to talk to you!" said the Cat. "Pay attention to me!"
Lister looked determinedly away from Cat. He suddenly felt a sharp sting on his cheek as the Cat slapped him across the face. Lister touched his stinging cheek in shock.
"You hit me," said Lister, still holding his face as he looked up at the Cat in disbelief. "What was that for?"
"Hey, Goalpost-Head was right," exclaimed the Cat, looking quite pleased at himself. "It did work!"
"But why did you slap me?" asked Lister, his cheek throbbing painfully.
"Because I hate it when I'm being ignored," said the Cat, as he sat down on the end of the bed on top of Lister's legs. "Move over!"
Lister curled his legs up to make room for the Cat. He stroked his face gingerly. "I think I need an icepack or something…"
"Don't be such a baby," said the Cat. "What's wrong with you? You've all me, me, me twenty-four seven these days. I didn't come here to hear you complain!
"Then what did you come here for?" said Lister sullenly.
"I came for a visit!" said the Cat happily. "You should feel very privileged!"
"Should I?" grumbled Lister, so low that the Cat didn't seem to hear him.
"So," said the Cat pleasantly. "How're you feeling today, bud?"
"I'm—" Lister glowered, but the Cat cut him off.
"That's great. That's really great. I'm having a pretty good day so far myself. I've eaten five times, slept four times, made two new stylin' suits and made goalpost head's old storage locker mine! I've even had some time to be thoughtful and generous! See? I've brought you something!"
Cat dropped something silver into Lister's lap. Lister held it up skeptically, unimpressed. "This is just a wrapper to a crunchy bar."
"I got hungry on my way over to visit you," the Cat explained. "But hey, you know what they say—it's the thought that counts, right?"
Lister rolled his eyes and said, "On."
Lister once again turned his attention to the monitor.
"Hey, monkey!" said Cat, waving his hand in front of Lister's face. "Where's your manners? Aren't you going to say thank you for my generosity? What's wrong with you? You're not still upset about leaving the dormouse duo behind, are you?"
Lister glared at Cat disdainfully. "I'm really broken up, man."
"Oh, that reminds me why I came here!" said the Cat cheerfully. "I brought you something else that'll cheer you up for sure!"
Lister was highly skeptical that the Cat had brought anything that could possibly cheer him up, but he decided to go along with the Cat's game, thinking that maybe he would go away if he appeased him. "Really? What is it?"
The Cat reached into one of his many coat pockets and dug around. He pulled out a ball of yarn with a tinfoil ball on the end along with a clump of feathers. "No, that's not it," said the Cat, shoving his hand into another of his numerous pockets. This time he pulled out a decent-sized hand mirror, eyebrow comb, and dental floss and tossed them aside into his growing pile of pruning tools.
"Don't worry," said the Cat, as he pulled out a spray bottle and sniffed it. "It's here somewhere…"
Lister waited impatiently as the Cat looked for his present, whatever it was.
"I found it!'' the Cat exclaimed after several more minutes of searching. "There you go, bud."
The Cat held out a Polaroid picture, which Lister numbly accepted. He took one look at it flipped it over, quickly turning away. He tried to compose himself before taking another glance at the photograph. He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before opening his eyes and looking at the picture again.
It was the picture that his past self had taken of him outside the medical unit with Jim and Bexley just minutes after their births. The picture became blurry as he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes, which he furiously rubbed, only further aggravating them. He stared unblinkingly at the picture as though he had never seen it before. He looked deeply into the faces in the photograph, his head spinning. He had one of his babies in either arm, wrapped in their silver thermal blankets. Jim had a pale blue pacifier in his mouth and both of them were crying, their faces bright red, their hands balled into fists. His eyes reluctantly drifted up to his own face. He looked dead tired, with deep, dark circles under his eyes—not much different than how he looked now. Nevertheless, he was still beaming with pride.
Lister was envious of his past self in this photograph. This version of himself was elated with happiness, optimistic about his future. He was completely oblivious that in three short days he would be parting with his newborn sons whom he'd thought he'd be spending the rest of his life with. He felt even worse for his photographic infant sons, who had no idea that they'd have virtually no childhood. Lister felt gleeful and sickened at the same time as he looked at the Polaroid, pondering the cruelty of life, especially his life. He returned to his frequent station of being hopelessly lost in his thoughts.
Lister coughed uncomfortably when he remembered that the Cat was still there and watching him. Lister embarrassedly wiped his eyes on his shirt, which he also used as a handkerchief. The Cat looked graciously in the opposite direction until Lister had finished.
Lister clutched the photograph to his chest. "Where'd you find this?"
"I found it in your bunk," said the Cat. "I was in your sleeping quarters to leave a little present in one of alphabet-head's old boots. But I think the better question is how you got it. I don't remember anyone taking a picture."
"That's because you weren't there," Lister explained. "That's why I left the medical unit. My past self was waiting out there to take a picture of us. Future echoes, remember? Now when I get to be one-hundred and seventy-one, I have to remind my past self to take the photograph or else I won't have this now."
"That sounds really hard to remember," said the Cat. "I'd write it down somewhere if I were you!"
"Thanks, Cat," said Lister, blowing his nose noisily. "This picture really means a lot to me. It's all that I've got left of them."
"Now, buddy—you know that's not true!" said the Cat, slapping Lister roughly on the back. "You've also got twenty extra pounds to lose and you're going to have a pretty nasty scar as well!"
"I thought that things would get better around here once I had me boys," said Lister, ignoring the Cat's last remark. "Believe it or not, once I got used to the idea I was really, really excited. For me it was finally an opportunity to have a family—a real family, flesh and blood. It was the chance to finally have some happiness in my smeg-awful life. I almost had something really good, a real life. I almost had it made. Then—then—this happened. They grew up in the same amount of time that it takes for me to get over a hangover."
"Listen—you've got to get over them and on with your life!" said the Cat. "See? Do I look all bothered about it? No! That's because I've moved on! It wasn't hard at all. You should try it!"
"It's easy for you," said Lister, staring at his hands. "They weren't your kids..."
"And thank God for that!" said the Cat bluntly. "Look at you! You're even more of a mess than your sleeping quarters! And here I am, trying to make you feel better…"
"Yeah, and a fat lot of good you're doing," said Lister sarcastically. "You're about as helpful as a lead parachute. You're only making me feel worse, guy!"
"No I'm not," the Cat insisted. "I think that everything happens for a reason. Look on the bright side—"
"There is no bright side!" Lister yelled.
"Hey, calm down, bud!" said the Cat. "I say that we go have a game of poker."
"I don't feel like having a game of poker! How can you be so insensitive? I really miss them. I'm miserable. I don't know how I ever got along without them now. They didn't get a childhood—it's totally unfair. Just try to imagine how confused they must feel—being left behind in an unfamiliar universe where everything's opposite and they're suddenly the inferior sex. Deb may be the female version of me, but she'll never be able to understand them. Not like I do."
Lister stared off out the window and watched as several thousand stars whizzed past. He shuddered, hiding his face in his hands, and said in a muffled voice, "Smeg, I miss them…"
"I know what it's like to miss someone," said the Cat thoughtfully. "I once had this pet fruit fly. I found it inside one of the boxes in the cargo decks. That little fruit fly was my best friend—we did everything together. It followed me everywhere—or I might've been following it. I don't remember now. Anyways, the two of us would play games all day—Cat games, you know. My personal favorite was 'You Fly Away and I'll Pounce On You.'"
"And what happened to it?" mumbled Lister.
"Well, we were playing his favorite, 'How Long Can You Stay Trapped Under My Foot.'"
"And?"
"And it just stopped moving!" the Cat exclaimed. "After poking at it's lifeless, flat body for a couple of hours I realized that it must be dead. It was tragic—now that it was dead I couldn't have fun anymore!"
"I think mine is slightly worse," said Lister glumly. "Now if you don't mind, I'd really like to be by myself right now."
"I can see when I'm not wanted," said the Cat, getting to his feet and snatching up the shiny crunchy bar wrapper. "And I'm taking your present with me!"
At last, Lister thought as he turned his attention back to the screen. Maybe they would finally leave him alone.
…
A week later, Lister was discharged from the medical unit once Kryten had deemed him to be healthy enough. He kept telling himself that he had done the right thing. But then why did he feel so cruddy? He felt like a cold, heartless monster. He was now struggling to pick up his life where he had left off before any of this ever happened. It wasn't easy. He couldn't look anywhere without thinking about Jim and Bexley. Several times a day his heart had leapt and his hopes soared when he thought he heard their voices, or imagined that he saw them in the corner of his eye. Upon further inspection he was always disappointed. Holly had been watching the ship from an outside monitor and had excitedly reported to Lister that there was a second Red Dwarf outside. Lister's hopes had soared—were they coming back for a visit already? It turned out that Holly had just gone cross-eyed.
Lister was alone in the sleeping quarters, lying in his bunk. He had often wanted to be by himself during the past few weeks, and the others had maintained a somewhat respectful distance from him, even though the Cat still came in on a regular basis with his 'investigating feet.' In time, Lister had begun to open up and warm up to his crewmates again, albeit with reluctance.
Rimmer peeked his head into the sleeping quarters without Lister noticing him. Rimmer saw Lister reach into the pocket of his leather jacket and pull out a dog-eared photograph. He often saw Lister do this when he thought no one else was watching. Lister kept the photograph of himself and the newborn Jim and Bexley on his person at all times. It was like he was afraid of forgetting them.
"Hello, Listy," said Rimmer curtly, making his presence known. "I hope that you've learned your lesson from all of this: never love anyone. They always end up leaving you in the end."
"That's just you, Rimmer," said Lister. "And besides, they didn't leave me. I left them."
"You really are being a sad goit," said Rimmer. "Mr. Self-Pity."
"I've had enough," said Lister to Rimmer as he lay in his bunk, looking sadly at the photograph. "I just want to go back home to Earth."
"We could give the Hop Drive another try," Holly suggested. "You never know. It might get us back to Earth somehow."
"It just doesn't feel right going back without them," said Lister, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I just wish that I could've had more time with them…"
"You'll see them again someday," said Rimmer, who was now supervising the skutters as they categorized his collection of shoetrees.
"Do you really think so?" asked Lister hopefully.
"I know so," said Rimmer.
Lister rolled over to his stomach and leaned over the side of his bunk. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because," said Rimmer simply. "Future echoes, remember? Everything else we saw that day has happened. Remember that conversation we had with your future self? I recall that he—I mean you—said that you and the twins still had all of those times together to enjoy. You had to have meant more than three days."
"Hey," said Lister, comprehension dawning on him. "You're right. I will see them again someday, won't I?"
"In time you should," said Holly. "So, what do you say to the Hop Drive, Dave?"
"Let's do it!" Lister exclaimed with new enthusiasm, cramming his leather deerstalker onto his head and leading the way into the Drive Room where the Holly Hop Drive was waiting.
ARNOLD J. RIMMER- MY LIFE, MY DIARIES
10 NOVEMBER, 3,000,002, 181
Tape on, Holly. It has been six weeks to the day that we returned Jim and Bexley to their universe. Life has returned to normal for the most part. Lister is pretty much his slobby, uncouth self again. We knew that we had him back when Cat has ironing one of his favorite suits and burned a hole right through it and Lister laughed at him. He's been distracting himself by trying to break that gibbering droid's programming. Personally, I think it's a waste of time. Kryten is also learning to pilot the Starbug. He has been practicing for weeks. I am conducting his piloting test tomorrow. We used the Hop Drive one last time five weeks ago to try to get back to Earth. There was no noticeable difference, but Holly did detect some unidentified universe on the long-range scan. We should be getting near whatever it is any day now. If it's not Earth, maybe it will at least be someone who can restore my body. Tape off.
THE END
AN: There you have it, folks. My first Red Dwarf fanfiction. And I well exceeded my goal of trying to write something novel-length. I already have ideas for more stories, but I'm pretty sure that none of them will be as long as this was.
To avoid any confusion, the part where Rimmer explains that Lister's future self said he had still had more time to come with Jim and Bexley is not from the Future Echoes episode itself, but from a scene in Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers, so it is in fact canon.
Starting right where Parallel Universe left off and leading straight into Backwards. I hope you all liked it.
Btw, please don't forget to review on your way out. Reviews are good.
Cheers
kellyofsmeg
