"Right," a male voice said. "I'll need to go into self-analysis mode for an hour or two to see what just happened."

Dave opened his eyes, looking for whoever had spoken, but he didn't see anybody. He sat up, looking at the gray room with interesting multi-colored buttons all around. Maybe he would come back and press some of those buttons once he figured out what this place was and why he was here. He wondered if there were any other eight-year-olds about; maybe this was some new kind of school.

"Hello?" Dave asked. "Is anybody here?"

Nobody answered, so Dave got to his feet, wandering into the corridor and looking for company.

Arnold knew there must be bullies around here somewhere. Wherever he was, bullies always seemed to follow. There was a nice low table in the room where he was now, so he sat underneath it and hid, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around so that he almost made a ball. If they wanted to hurt him, they would have to try hard.

Someone came into the room. Arnold held his breath, hoping that whoever it was would go away. He liked to be alone; then he could do whatever he wanted without other people laughing at him or tying him up.

Whoever it was crouched next to the table, looking under at Arnold. "Hey."

Arnold looked at the stranger, trying to figure out what would happen, but whoever it was, he looked friendly. "Hi."

"What are you doing?" the stranger asked.

"Hiding," Arnold said.

"Can I hide too?" the stranger asked.

"Sure," Arnold said, shrugging.

The stranger swung himself underneath the table, landing neatly next to Arnold. "My name's Dave."

"My name's Arnold," Arnold said. Should he ask? No, it was stupid. He wouldn't ask. Yes, he would. "But…could you call me Ace?"

Dave nodded. "Sure."

Arnold looked at Dave in surprise. "Really?"

Dave smiled. He looked even friendlier when he smiled. "Yeah."

Arnold knew what to expect by now when someone agreed to call him Ace. He squinched his eyes shut, trying to get ready for the blows. "Go ahead."

"What are you doing?" Dave asked.

Arnold opened one eye, and then the other, looking at Dave. "Don't you want to hit me?"

Dave looked confused. "No."

"Usually people say they'll call me Ace if I let them beat me up," Arnold explained.

Dave made a face. "And you do it?"

"Sure," Arnold said.

Dave looked out, seeing what was in front of the table, and then he looked back at Arnold. "Who are we hiding from?"

"Bullies," Arnold said.

Dave straightened up, puffing out his chest a little. "I'm not afraid of bullies."

Arnold looked at Dave, surprised. "You're not?"

"Are you?" Dave asked.

Arnold hesitated. Then he nodded, staring at the floor. He knew he wasn't supposed to be afraid of things like bullies, but he was anyway. Maybe when he got older, he'd grow out of it.

"We're mates, right?" Dave asked.

Arnold didn't know. "I guess so."

"Then let's not hide anymore," Dave said, crawling out from underneath the table.

"What are you doing?" Arnold asked, aghast. "What if someone comes?"

Dave shrugged. "I'll fight 'em."

"Why?" Arnold asked.

"So they won't try to beat us up again," Dave said.

Arnold had never thought of that. "Will that work?"

"It usually does," Dave said.

Encouraged by Dave's act of bravery, Arnold crawled out from beneath the table too. He looked at his new friend. "Wow. You're just like Napoleon."

"Who?" Dave asked.

Arnold could hardly believe Dave hadn't heard of Napoleon; didn't everyone's parents tell stories about great military leaders? "Napoleon. He was a fantastic general."

Dave nodded. "Oh."

"I've got a lot of toy soldiers," Arnold said, excited to have someone new to play with. "You can play with them too if you want."

Dave looked interested. "Really?"

"Do you want to?" Arnold asked.

Dave grinned. "That'd be brutal!"

Arnold didn't like the sound of that. "Brutal?"

"It means good," Dave explained.

Arnold nodded in relief. "Oh." He decided to try the word himself. "Brutal!"

Dave looked around the room. "Where are your toys, Ace?"

"In my chest," Arnold said, looking around for the chest. It was in the corner of the room, so he pointed to it. "It's right over there."

Dave walked over to the chest, opening the lid, and looking at its contents with interest.

"You get bagsies on the soldiers you want," Arnold said, "but I want you to have the one on top."

Dave picked up the one on top. "This one? Why?"

"It's my favorite," Arnold said. After Dave had promised to defend him against bullies, letting him play with one of Arnold's favorite toys seemed like the least he could do.

Dave seemed to know that. "Thanks!" He made the wooden soldier walk across the carpet. "Where are we, anyway? Is this your house?"

Arnold suddenly felt nervous. "No. Isn't it summer camp?"

Dave laughed. "Right. What would I be doing at a summer camp?"

"I don't know," Arnold said, his heart starting to beat faster. "My toys are here, so I thought—do you remember coming here?"

Dave shook his head. "No. You?"

"No," Arnold said. "What if we've been kidnapped?"

"We haven't been kidnapped," Dave said. "We'd remember if we had."

"Then where are we?" Arnold asked, his lower lip starting to tremble. "I don't like it here. I want my mum."

"Maybe she's here somewhere, Ace," Dave said.

Arnold's panic started to subside. "You think so?"

Dave stood up. "We could look."

Arnold stood up, and for the first time, he realized that the floor was further away than it should be. "Dave? How old are you?"

"Eight," Dave said. "How old are you?"

"Seven and a half," Arnold said, realizing that he was taller than Dave. That couldn't be right, could it?

"How come we're so tall?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Arnold said, noticing the stubble on Dave's face for the first time. "You look grown-up."

Dave nodded. "So do you."

Maybe being grown-up should've made Arnold feel better, but instead, it made him feel worse. Why was he grown up all of a sudden? Where was he, and was there anybody he knew nearby? He was glad he wasn't alone, at least. Having someone with him who was having the same problems made him feel a little better, but he was still frightened.

"I don't like this place," Arnold said. "I want to go home."

Dave gestured to the doorway. "Let's have a look for your mum."

"Okay," Arnold said.

They headed for the door, but Arnold tripped. He began to call out to Dave, to tell him to move, but before he could say, "Look out!", he fell through Dave.

"Hey!" Dave yelped, jumping away.

Arnold lay on the floor for a minute, trying to make sense of the latest scary thing that had happened to him. Then he stood up.

"How'd you do that?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Arnold said.

"Am I a ghost or are you?" Dave asked.

Arnold swallowed. "What do you mean, ghost?"

"Ghosts can walk through walls and things," Dave said.

He was older, so Arnold figured he knew about things like that. "But ghosts aren't real, are they?"

"I know how we can find out," Dave said. He knocked on the wall.

Arnold knocked on the wall…and his hand faded through the wall. He jerked his hand back, looking at it. It felt real. He touched his nose. His hand didn't go through his face. That was probably good; if it had, he might've touched his brains, and that would've been disgusting.

Dave was staring at Arnold in awe. "It's you."

"So if I'm a ghost, that means," Arnold said, trying to understand.

"You're dead," Dave said.

Arnold felt his panic return. He didn't want to be dead. "I don't remember dying. Isn't that something I'd remember?"

"I dunno," Dave said. "Maybe someone around here can tell us." He looked around the room. "Hello? Is anybody here?"

A man's head appeared in the mirror by a set of bunk beds. "What's happening, then?"

Dave walked over to the mirror, looking at it with interest. Arnold followed Dave, hanging behind him a little.

"Who are you?" Dave asked.

"Is that a trick question?" the head in the mirror asked.

"No," Dave said.

"I'm Holly," the head in the mirror said.

"Holly who?" Arnold said, peeking from behind Dave.

"Just Holly," Holly said.

"Do you know who we are, Holly?" Dave asked.

"Of course," Holly said, looking pleased. "Dave Lister and Arnold Rimmer. That was easy. Ask me another."

Arnold stepped out from behind Dave. "Where's my mum?"

"Dead by now, I imagine," Holly said.

Arnold began to whimper. His mum was dead? He'd never see her again? He suddenly felt much more alone now that he knew she wasn't here.

Dave patted him on the shoulder. "Steady on, Ace."

Arnold nodded and swatted at his eyes.

"Holly?" Dave said.

"Yes, Dave?" Holly said.

"Where are we?" Dave asked.

"On board the mining ship Red Dwarf," Holly said. "I like these questions. Simple. Direct. Nothing too technical about them."

Dave looked surprised. "We're on a spaceship?"

"Yeah," Holly said. "That's why you can see those little specky things out the window. Stars, they're called."

Both Arnold and Dave turned to look out the window, and like Holly said, the stars were there. Arnold wondered how far away he was from home, but didn't dare to ask.

Dave had another question ready. "Holly, how old are we?"

"You're twenty-five," Holly said. "Rimmer's twenty-eight."

Arnold shook his head. "I'm not twenty-eight. I'm not even eight."

"And I'm just eight," Dave said.

Holly frowned. "I don't think that's—Gordon Bennet. It's all gone, innit?"

Arnold looked around the room. "What's gone?"

"Your memories," Holly said. "You asked me to upload your memories, and then there was that power surge. I didn't upload 'em, I nicked 'em."

"Can you give us our memories back?" Dave asked.

Holly nodded. "I think so. Give me a bit to think about it."

Holly faded from view, and Arnold and Dave turned to face each other.

"What do we do?" Arnold asked, hoping Dave had a plan.

"I don't know," Dave said. "Hey—you've got an H in the middle of your forehead."

"I do?" Arnold touched his forehead, and oddly enough, there seemed to be a piece of plastic on it.

Dave pointed to Holly's viewscreen. "Look. It's a mirror again."

Both Arnold and Dave turned to look into it. Arnold knew what Dave looked like by now, but he wasn't prepared for his own reflection. He'd still expected to look like himself, but whoever was in the mirror didn't look anything like him. He was tall and old, and…old. He looked old enough to be one of his parents' friends. This was what he was going to look like when he grew up?

"I look so weird," Arnold said.

Dave looked disturbed by his reflection. "Me too."

Arnold touched the letter on his head. "It is an H. I wonder if I can take it off." He tried to pull it off, but it was stuck on tight, and when he tried to get his fingernails underneath it, it hurt. "Ow!"

"It's stuck on, then?" Dave asked.

Arnold nodded. "It feels like it's part of my face."

"Maybe it's part of being a ghost," Dave said.

Arnold didn't want to think about being a ghost. "Don't say that. I don't like it."

Dave rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. "Well, then, let's never say anything you don't like ever again."

Arnold didn't know much, but he knew when he was being teased. "Stop it."

"I don't take orders from you!" Dave said.

"Well, I hate you!" Arnold said, his voice rising in volume.

"I hate you more!" Dave said.

"You're stupid!" Arnold shouted.

"You're ugly!" Dave shouted back.

Arnold held out his hand. "Give me my soldier back."

"Fine!" Dave said. He threw the soldier at Arnold, and Arnold tried to duck, but the soldier passed through him. "You can't even touch anything because you're stupid and you're dead!"

"Go away," Arnold said.

"Maybe I will!" Dave said, sticking his tongue out at Arnold before he stormed out of the room.

Arnold turned to the mirror. "Holly?"

Holly appeared. "If you want me to get these calculations done, I'll need a few minutes. I haven't used algebra in a few millennia."

"Holly, am I dead?" Arnold asked.

Holly nodded. "Yeah."

Arnold bit his lower lip hard. "I am?"

"Yeah," Holly said. "Anything else?"

"No," Arnold said. Then he remembered his manners. "Thank you."

Holly faded from the mirror, and it turned into a mirror again. Arnold turned around, throwing himself onto the bottom bunk and hiding his face in his pillow. At least nobody was around to hear him cry.