Author's Note: There, see? Not a whole week!

"You can't be serious!" Rimmer objected.

Cat rolled his eyes. "Bud, we gotta chuck something!"

"But my shoe trees? I've had them for years! I've got one for every day of the week!"

"You don't even use them! You've only got two pairs of boots, your slippers and those flip flops you - thank god - only wear around the house!"

Rimmer flared his nostrils at the feline in frustration. He ran out of time for a proper retort as the footsteps clomped in the hatchway, and Kochanski loomed over the pair of them with a look of deep annoyance.

"Dare I ask how much progress you've made?"

"Not if you're faint of heart, Officer BB," Cat replied snidely. "Toilet Brush Head can't part with any of his useless crap!"

"It's not 'useless' crap! It's all 'perfectly functional' crap!"

Kochanski massaged her temples. "Rimmer, for smeg's sake - we've been over this. We've accumulated too much stuff lately. We need to jettison what we can to improve flight performance. Now let's flush some of this stuff!"

"But why does it have to be all of my stuff? Why not yours? Or the Cat's?" he asked, glaring at both of them.

"Hey, I'm making sacrifices!" Cat insisted. "I'm down to my last twenty-seven suits! I'm reduced to only six hundred pieces of jewelry and accessories! I'm practically a nomad!"

Rolling her eyes, Kochanski dug around the pile of old knick knacks and worthless junk, pulling out a bag of golf clubs. "Here - we can chuck these."

"Oh, come on!" Rimmer objected. "You can't! Those are from when we played Crazy Golf on Treka XVI!"

"The planetoid was so small we had to make it a nine hole course," she snorted.

"Do you realize how difficult it is to find stuff to look forward to in space?"

"Well, if you'd learn to love the Opera Game - "

More footsteps interrupted them from the hatchway as Kryten popped in with a tray of refreshment. "Trouble, sirs?" he asked, not sounding remotely surprised as he passed around mugs of tea.

"We're getting nowhere, bud," Cat grumbled. "We keep arguing over what to throw away! There's gotta be something here we can all agree needs to go!"

"I can think of someone who needs to go," Kochanski said, scowling at Rimmer as he glared at her over the rim of his mug. "It's people like you that get in the way of cleaning out attics and garages. Antique Roadshows suffer every year because of you hoarders."

Kryten tutted as he set the now-empty tray down. "Now really, it must be possible to find something to throw out." He pulled out a large metal device with a number of broken dials and dangling wires on it. "How about this old antimatter generator?"

"But it makes such a proficient doorstop!" Rimmer objected.

Everyone groaned.

"Add it to the 'toss' pile, Kryten," Kochanski ordered.

"You mean 'make it the toss pile'," Cat corrected. "It's the first thing we've been able to toss."

"I said 'yes' to chucking your battery operated hot wax unsightly hair remover, didn't I?"

"I didn't even suggest that, you unfeeling beast!"

Kochanski took out one of the golf clubs and brandished it like a weapon. "All right, that's enough, you two!" she snapped, making them both flinch back in fear. "We're going to be sensible, rational and unsentimental, and get all this rubbish neatly sorted, or I'll bash both your skulls in!"

Rimmer and Cat quickly nodded. "Yes, ma'am!"

She smiled, never lowering the club. "Good. Let's get started."

They divided up and set to digging around the junk they'd accumulated over the years. Some stuff they'd found on derelicts, random junk that had simply been on the ship when they started, and some they'd triplicated thinking they'd needed more of at the time but hadn't been used since.

Rimmer still grumbled and moaned every time something of his came up on the chopping block, but the others always vetoed him, leaving him to bitch under his breath.

But then, the Cat pulled out a weird white plastic device that vaguely resembled an oversized microscope. "What the hell is this?"

"If you don't know, just chuck it," grunted Kochanski, head down in another pile.

Kryten, however, turned to look. "It's a holo-lamp, sir," he explained. "It's used for playing holo-messages."

Rimmer popped up from his sulking corner. "What?" he asked, looking alarmed. His eyes fell on the lamp. "No, stop. Put that down. No chucking that, miladdo."

Cat scowled. "Oh, come on, man! You've moaned about golf clubs, old computers, and a broken lava lamp! Why the hell do you want to keep this?"

"None of your business! Just give it! It's personal!"

Undeterred, Cat held it out over the 'toss' pile. "Give me an actual reason, and it lives."

Rimmer floundered for a moment, looking like a cornered ferret, but now all eyes bore into him from three directions, and he finally found his voice. "My father gave it to me when I was a boy. It contains a message he left me, but only after I'd become an officer."

Kochanski frowned. "How is it after all these years, this is the first I've heard of this? I don't recall a holo-lamp in that camphor wood chest when we got marooned."

Rimmer shrugged, his eyes having dropped to the floor. "We left in such a hurry, I didn't have a chance to nab it. I hid it on Starbug when we got back just to be safe, and then, I guess I sort of forgot about it, and give it here, you stupid moggy!" he finally shouted, grabbing the Cat by his lapels and forcing him over.

Startled, Cat surrendered the lamp, staggering back as Rimmer relinquished the suit for it. "You crazy monkey!" Cat snapped. "You better hope you didn't just crease this suit permanently!"

Rimmer avoided everyone's gaze as he stormed from the room.

The others stood in uncomfortable silence while Cat went about trying to mend whatever damage had been done.

Kochanski finally let out a heavy sigh. "Right - Kryten, see about flushing what we've already agreed on. I'll see to him."

"Right away, ma'am," Kryten replied, scuttling over to the small pile of junk as she left.

Kochanski deliberately waited a few minutes before actually tracking down Rimmer. She knew he would probably need time to cool down before any kind of talk could be had. Anything relating to his family required delicate handling. She really ought to put on industrial gloves and carry a shield beforehand, but that would be silly.

Checking her watch, she decided she ought to wander up to the sleeping quarters where she figured he'd be. She tapped on the door with her knuckles and asked, "Okay to come in?"

A noncommittal grunt on the other side gave her the permission she needed to press the door button and step inside. She found him sitting on his bunk, hunched over and clutching the holo-lamp in both hands, looking vaguely like he wanted to strangle it.

"So," she said at last, "what's the story with that thing?"

Rimmer didn't look up. "My father gave it to me when I was a boy. Said that I wasn't to play it until I became an officer - a man of honor and substance."

"So it's never been played then," she replied wryly.

He either didn't catch the cheap shot or didn't care. He simply hefted the device again. "I've spent all this time trying to forget him, to forget my entire rotten family. But this thing has always loomed in the background. So many times I thought about chucking it, but…," he paused briefly, "… I keep thinking, this is the final time I'll hear anything from him."

Kochanski frowned. "And you think this might be the one time he says anything complimentary?"

Squirming, he gave a nod. "I mean, this is for when I became the man he wanted me to become. Maybe once I did that, he'd have been more - I dunno - forthcoming with fatherly affection?"

"Or," Kochanski replied, "maybe he'll say something incredibly disappointing and let you down again." She sat down on the bunk next to him. "Because that's all he does. You talked about letting him down, but Rimmer - he let you down. Every time. A father should be there for his son, no matter what career he gets." She gestured at the lamp. "You want to play that message? It's up to you. But it's not going to erase a damn thing."

Rimmer continued to look at the lamp, his thoughts unknown to her, but after a minute, he finally stood up. "Come on," he said, and she followed him out of the room.

Down in the mid-section, Kryten and Cat sat on either end of the scanner table. The mech tried to iron out the jacket's lapels, while the feline sat with a plate of fish for his lunch.

They both looked up at the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and they tensed when Rimmer came down carrying the holo-lamp, followed by Kochanski.

For a moment, Rimmer didn't say anything, simply taking in the scene before him. Then, a bit sullenly, he muttered to the Cat. "Sorry about the…" He gestured lamely at the jacket.

Cat sneered but gestured to the lamp. "Whatcha' gonna do with that?"

Rimmer sat it down on the table. "I'm going to play it."

"Your father's message?" asked Kryten, surprised. "But why, sir?"

"If I play it before I've become the person he wanted me to become, it means… I don't care what he thinks anymore. It means… I'm free of him."

Kochanski put a hand on his arm. "Are you sure you want us here?"

Rimmer nodded firmly. "I'd rather not do this alone." He glanced around a bit disdainfully. "And you can't choose your friends."

She gave him an amused pat on the shoulder before taking one of the empty chairs. They all gathered 'round close as he pressed the 'play' button and sat down next to it.

A small beam of light appeared under the lamp, and a flickering 3D image crackled into life in a flash of static. After a brief pause, the transmission took the form of Rimmer's father - balding, mustache, tweed jacket and bowtie, and hands behind his back with a look of dismissive superiority.

"Arnold - it's me," the recording said. "If you're playing this message, it means you're an officer in the Space Corps. You've achieved your dreams and are a man of significance and substance - so this won't matter to you now." He paused briefly. "Arnold - I'm not your father."

They watched the color drain out of Rimmer's face. "But that's impossible! It's not true!"

"Look inside yourself, and you'll know I speak the truth. Your father wasn't me. It was Dungo, our gardener."

Rimmer's jaw fell open. "Dungo?! But he was a babbling imbecile!"

Cat opened his mouth to say something, only for Kochanski to hold up a warning finger. "Don't. Say. A word."

The recording continued. "Know from now on that your family line isn't made up of Austrian princes and French royalty, but of lamebrained artisans and pram-faced trollops. I didn't tell you before because I didn't want it to affect your self-esteem, but now that you've achieved all your dreams, it doesn't matter a jot. Goodbye, Arnold. And good luck. PS - naturally, I won't be sending you any more birthday presents."

The image fluctuated with another round of static before it shut down, and Rimmer Sr vanished, never to be heard from again.

For a long moment, no one said or did anything. They just watched Rimmer, who simply stared at the empty space in the holo-lamp with a dumbfounded expression. His face twitched as if trying to start displaying an emotion, but he couldn't quite get it going, so it returned to neutral.

At last, his face gave it up, and his legs took over, lifting him out of the chair and wandering him over to the wall. After spending ten seconds seemingly staring at it, he put his face in his hands. Could his face possibly be rebooting?

Kochanski cautiously got up and went after him. She gently placed a hand on his back. "Rimmer?" she asked. "Are you still in there?" She got no response. "If you're still awake, give us a signal."

Rimmer's shoulders twitched abruptly, making her jump. For a moment, they thought maybe he'd had a spasm from the shock. A heart attack would surely follow.

But then, to their surprise, he made a noise they rarely heard from him. He laughed. Slowly and quietly at first, like a snigger, and then it became a giggle, and when he finally turned around, he'd started full on laughing to the point he clutched his sides with the utmost mirth.

"He's finally flipped!" Cat observed. "Always knew it'd happen." He smiled brightly. "Can I have his room?"

But Rimmer didn't seem to hear. He just went on laughing like a lunatic until he finally caught his breath and calmed down, leaning against the cockpit hatch and looking thoughtful yet still amused.

"Rimmer?" Kochanski asked again.

"All these years," Rimmer said, staring off into space. "All those years, forced into the Space Corps, stretched on a rack, starved for not knowing how to calculate faster than light travel! And the bald git wasn't even my father!"

"But who was this 'Dungo', sir?" asked Kryten.

"The family gardener. His real name was Dennis, but everyone always called him 'Dungo' because he usually fertilized the yard. My brother Frank always said he smelled like a sick hippo."

He slid down the length of the doorway until he sat on the steps, the earlier mirth having faded into a faraway look. Kochanski knelt down next to him.

"What are you thinking right now?"

He paused before responding. "That I was tortured and belittled by a man I have no relation to. That I had a father who, given the chance, might have actually cared for me and been there when I needed him. Hell, when my brothers hung me by my ankles from a tree, he was the one who helped me down."

Kochanski smiled. "Sounds like your dad would've made a great dad."

"Maybe," he murmured. "Hell, he'd probably have been proud of me. Second Technician in the Space Corps, second-in-command on a JMC ship, and I don't smell of manure."

Cat shrugged. "Suppose that is better than dandruff shampoo."

Rimmer steadily got to his feet, looking happier than he had in a long time. "You know what?" he said. "It's time for a new start. Let's start flushing some stuff."

He plucked the holo-lamp off the scanner table, pressed a few buttons on a wall console, and stuck it in the waste disposal unit. Giving it a very sarcastic Rimmer Salute, he flushed it into space.

"Well, I don't know about Starbug, but I definitely feel lighter after that."

Kochanski smiled and gave him a hug. They stood in silence for a few seconds before they heard footsteps behind them.

"Kryten, do not hug me, and that's an order," Rimmer said without even having to look.

Author's Notes: A bit short, but it moves the plot forward.

Next week: Beyond a Joke