I am so, so, so sorry for not updating in such a long time. I've been house-sitting for my aunt while she was on holiday in Canada (she brought me back a cool Kodiak hoody :D) and although I wrote some of the chapter, I couldn't be bothered to put it on floppy disk, move it onto her computer and upload onto Her computer is unbelievably slow. Not to mention that my own laptop is acting like Holly's ex-girlfriend and won't load for me. My internet keeps dialling out. It took 2 hours to get this up I'll have you know! Troubleshooting - my arse! Anyway, now we get into a little squabble between the two lads. Lister is being a pain, Rimmer is being a pain. With two such pains about no wonder the Cat is in hiding!
Around week twenty, Lister's tenacity grew worse. Though the situation involving his vacation away from five-fingered happy-hug fun-time had been cut short thus resulting in a calmer and more obedient Lister, Rimmer was still finding it difficult to control his actions. Irresponsibly, Lister had eaten his way through a month's supply of poppadoms in 3 days, drunk a week's supply of vinegar to wash them down and for dessert he consumed 4 cans of whipped cream smeared on fruit rye bread. He curled up like a kitten and slept on the floor until Rimmer came across him. As of that moment he was grounded. "Sorry Listy," Rimmer sneered and checked on the skutters guarding the doorway, brandishing potato peelers. They were ordered to aim for the genital region should Lister move from his designated punishment area. "Sorry Listy," he repeated before leaving to have a small game of Chinese checkers in the drive room. "You should listen to me. I know what's best for you."
"Bein' a prisoner in my own room is best fer me? Cheers.(!)"
"It may seem cruel but you're your own worst enemy."
"No, I'm pretty sure that's YOU, Rimmer," said Lister and adjusted the pillows on the bunk to elevate his gargantuan feet. When Rimmer was gone Lister breathed in the scent of silence joyously. No. More. Rimmer. Lister wasn't fond of being alone, but it was a heck of a lot better than having Rimmer around clucking at every little thing he did. He lay there for a while squishing his boobs together. He never got bored of the different ways they could move about; up and down and around, together, apart. No wonder women weren't terribly impressed with men. Lister had considered a bit of fun with the Wonder bra, but O the humiliation if Rimmer walked in and saw! He could not bear that. Holly's image appeared on the screen. "Heard you were doing porridge. Want to play scrabble?" Holly had an almost child-like approach to situations. If it was broke, don't fix it - ignore it and it can't possibly have happened. "Scrabble?" he laughed soberly. "You don't know any words with more than five letters in them."
"Yes, I do." Lister waited patiently for her to think of one. She looked around at first, chewing the inside of her cheek. She banged her head on the screen seven times and said triumphantly, "Scrabble! It's seven letters."
"Eight."
"Oh yeah, I forgot the third 'a'." Lister shook his head and was slightly amused by her idiotic antics. It was a sad outlook for feminists that the female Holly was even stupider than the male.
The third trimester leapt onto Rimmer and Lister without them even realising. Rimmer got into a frenzied panic of quoting statistics of premature multiple births being higher than singular but Lister took everything he said with a handful of salt. He knew that 99 of statistics were made up anyway. 34 of all people knew that. The main reason Rimmer panicked so was because a few days earlier Lister had complained of stomach pains. A nail-biting three hours later and they turned out to be Braxton Hick's - false - contractions, coupled with a disagreement with a curry from that morning. All that Lister required was a few Alka Seltzer's. And despite ranting and raving at Lister for the rest of the day about giving false alarms, Rimmer still fell over with fright at even the smallest belch. One day, whilst Lister balanced a tray with a Jenga game on top and began the impossible task of lasting more than five moves before Jim or Bexley thrust the tray into the air with a swift kick, Rimmer approached him with a proposition. "Stasis? What for?"
"I don't think we can rely on the Cat to help you. He's been avoiding us for weeks."
"He's been leaving clothes about though."
"But that's ALL he'll do! If he's not there for the birth... we're in trouble. They're in trouble." Rimmer tapped his foot nervously. He didn't like the thought of the skutters trying to do it all by themselves. They were built to fix machinery, not to handle newborns. What was even more discouraging was how unconcerned Lister was by everything. Did he even care that his children could die if the Cat didn't help deliver them? Lister had far too much faith in the future echoes, that was the problem, Rimmer concluded. Who knew what would happen between now and Lister's old self talking to him? All Lister knew was that he'd live that long and whatever the journey between A and B, he was sure he could handle it. Lister knew Bexley would die in a horrific explosion. But what kind of life would he lead up till then? Didn't matter. Lister was satisfied by the echoes. Am I being stupid for questioning them, wondered Rimmer. Can the future be changed? No it couldn't. It would simply create another parallel to their universe. So no matter what happened, the twins were fine here. But how would they be fine without the Cat? Rimmer's head began to hurt. "He'll come around," Lister reassured him.
"I'd still rather you went into stasis. We could float around for a while until we bump into someone or something that can help you deliver. Or even get back to Earth. You were going to go into stasis for that very reason before, anyway." Lister interrupted him with a whoop of delight as the tray went flying. "That one was definitely Jim. He has a stronger left kick."
"Are you even listening?" Rimmer said. Lister began to set up the blocks again and nodded. "I know why you're worried but don't be. Anyone'd think they were YOUR kids, the way you go on."
"Well they practically will be! Be honest Lister, you'll dump all the workload on me and the skutters. Who'll be up at 3am to feed them? Me, of course."
"Hang on, hang on! I'll be up anyway. I can see to them."
"That wasn't my point, Lister," said Rimmer, folding his arms. He sighed and repeated slowly, "You will expect us to help you at first and then soon enough you'll be ignoring them completely. Until they're old enough to get blitzed with you anyway." Lister knocked the Jenga set onto the floor and got to his feet. He faced Rimmer and his stomach passed through the hologram as he moved closer. His eyes flashed with anger and Rimmer was almost afraid. It wasn't often he was stared down by another man. Any sign of a fight and there would be nothing but a dust cloud where Rimmer had once stood. But Lister's move had come out of the blue. Lister wanted a fight right then and there and Rimmer knew it. But neither of them were in a condition for fisticuffs; Lister was pregnant, Rimmer was dead. Lister drew his lips in and licked them once before saying, "For once, man, you could give me a little credit." Then he left.
Author notes;
Doing porridge - anyone who's anyone in Britain will know of the funny Ronnie Barker sitcom 'Porridge', so called because of the phrase 'doing porridge' which means doing time in prison.