Three Million Years from Earth, Three Million Years Later
"Hol, do you know where my good shirt is?" Dave Lister asked the ship's computer while he rummaged through a pile of dirty socks.
"It's half-passed-one, Dave," Holly said as her image appeared on the monitor screen.
David groaned as he proceeded to tear his bunk apart and then Rimmer's. "Hol, I'm looking for my London Jets T-shirt. The one that has only two curry stains."
"That T-shirt?"
"Yes. That T-shirt," Lister said exasperatedly as he looked at the monitor.
"The one with only two curry stains on it?"
"Yes, Hol. That one."
"I 'aven't seen it."
Dave let out another exasperated groan as he shook his head. When he finally regained his composure he said, "Would you please use your sensors to help me find it, then?"
"What was it you were looking for again?"
"Aaaaack!" David growled as he started digging through a pile of thilthy clothing in his locker. Holy took it as her cue to disappear.
The unwashed space-bum shook his head exasperatedly as he continued to look for his favourite shirt. It had been five years since he had emerged from stasis to find that Red Dwarf's crew had not survived. It was in that time that Holy had been seemingly getting worse. Under any normal circumstances the ship's computer would have probably been scrapped and replaced with a much newer and better one, but the circumstances that he and his barely-tolerable mates were under weren't—by any means—normal.
When Lister reached the bottom of the pile he finally found his prised belonging and put it on. 'It looks to be another blissful day in paradise,' he thought sarcastically.