Thanks once again for all the lovely reviews and adds, much appreciated. Howdy to old followers as well as new *waves*.
I've taken Rimmer's memories of Yvonne, and how he met her, straight from Doug Naylor's book, 'Last Human'.
Enjoy! And please read and review. Thanks muchly.
McGruder.
The name swirled in the buzzing static of the darkness.
He'd dated a girl called McGruder once, during his first lifetime when he was still alive.
Yvonne. The woman with the computer-blue eyes.
They'd never spoken, but sometimes caught each other's eye as they passed one another in corridors or across the canteen at lunchtimes; her gaze locking with his with a brief yet charged energy that seemed to have the ability to turn him inside out.
Then one afternoon after he'd finished his shift, he caught the same lift as her. His heart had leapt at the opportunity, and rather than his usual, tongue-freezing terror when he tried to speak to pretty women, the words had tumbled out easily. Perhaps not the best chosen opening by all accounts; pointing out the white bandage wrapped around her head, and asking if she was Buddhist or something? He'd been inwardly horrified at his idiotic first line, but rather than the knock-back he'd been expecting, she'd laughed. And not a dismissive laugh at him, but a warm laugh that she invited him to share.
She'd explained how a piece of machinery had fallen on her head from a great height, which had given her a concussion, but she had made a full recovery. Encouraged by her openness, he'd offered some small talk, and she'd responded fondly, explaining shyly that she found him rather charming.
He was still reeling from the shock when she coquettishly invited him to dinner in her quarters that night.
It was a truly amazing night. In more ways than one.
Lister had dismissed it of course, taunting that she'd only slept with him thinking he was a guy called 'Norman'. And after a couple of days, he'd begun to submit to the doubts himself, wondering whether if they were indeed true. So he set out to prove to himself that Lister was wrong.
He wouldn't call her.
If she really cared about him, she would re-establish contact, set another date and prove Lister wrong.
She never called.
Apart from sharing the odd polite nod as they passed one another in the corridor, they never spoke again. And three months after their night together, she left Red Dwarf on shore leave at Miranda and didn't return.
He never saw her again.
But a long time had passed since then. Three million years, give or take a few. His caterpillar self had died in the accident, and he'd spent six years cocooned with the ragtail survivor crew from Hades itself, before being reborn as Ace. He'd become the butterfly he'd always hoped he'd be.
As the darkness drew back and his awareness began to awaken, Rimmer instinctively took stock of his surroundings before opening his eyes. A distant, thumping hum of engines indicated that he was on a craft far larger than Wildfire. He realised he was lying on a hard, creaking bed; his fingers curling up experimentally against a scratchy woollen blanket before dragging up to clutch his forehead. He had one cracker of a headache, similar to the self-inflicted hangover after his death day celebrations all those years ago.
He opened his eyes, immediately wincing at the bright, harsh white light that needled its way mercilessly past his eyelids. His mind began to slowly dripfeed images and sensations as he scrabbled to piece together what had happened and where he was.
Simulants. Gunfire. Electrocuted.
His eyes darted about the small room - a ramshackle medibay littered with papers, snaking wires and surgical equipment. Whatever the simulants had planned for him, it didn't look overly fun. Panicked, he stumbled from the bed, his quivering legs immediately buckling, struggling to keep him on his feet. His entire image seemed to buzz white-hot with fatigue, his sensations feeling dull and weak. Whatever had knocked him out, he'd never experienced anything as powerful or overwhelming like it.
Rimmer staggered across to the rusty, metal door and hammered at the keypad to unlock. The light buzzed red in the negative. He tried again desperately, only to be greeted with the same rejection.
He was locked in.
He thumped the door angrily with an audible growl. How could he have made such a stupid, dangerous mistake? It wasn't as if he'd had nine years to learn these things or anything like that, he berated himself inwardly with his old, sarcastically snide voice.
It was then that he heard it. Frowning, he pressed his ear to the door. A lone set of footsteps were approaching, striding purposefully down the corridor towards him.
Hurriedly pushing himself back from the door, his hands instinctively reached for the guns in his belt, but instead met the khaki of his trousers. Glancing down in a panic, he quickly patted himself down, as if he may have missed a secretly stashed weapon that the simulants may have most kindly left on his person. No such luck.
With the footsteps getting closer, he swivelled behind him to the tray of surgical instruments that lay on the table by the bed. Snatching at the most lethal looking scalpel, he hurried back to press himself up against the wall beside the door and steadied himself.
As the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door, Rimmer tightened his grip around the cold metal handle of the scalpel. Whichever simulant was on shift tonight was not going to finish it alive.
*****************
McGruder rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, letting a lazy yawn stretch from his mouth as he made his way down the winding maze of corridors. It had been one hell of a long day, he capitulated. He'd barely stopped since rescuing the stranger from the SS. Aquarius after picking up the distress signal. He'd barely stopped since he'd escaped from his old ship all those years ago.
Maybe he was getting too old for this. After all, despite having the appearance of a man almost 30 years old, he'd lived for just over 200, thanks to his distinct lack of the ageing gene. All Mayflower human crewmembers had had this core part of their DNA removed before they'd set out on their epic mission. The Space Corps had made one correct assumption amongst their list of cock-ups: there would be little hope of recruiting new staff in the depths of unchartered space.
McGruder's interest in this lone traveller had been piqued when he'd picked up his craft - a small, red, one-main ship called the Wildfire - on making their escape from the Aquarius, programming its mainframe to follow his own ship's navigation network. He'd heard the stories passed down from person to person over the centuries - the undefeated, immortal man who travelled across time and space, defending the human race from extinction, appearing and disappearing in a flare of flame.
If indeed this was him, then the reality seemed far removed from the legend. As McGruder raced his ship back to the Colony to save him, he found himself glancing over to the co-pilot seat, where the immortal deity suddenly seemed oh-so very mortal. The cockpit resonated with a flickering white light, as the unconscious man's image pulsed in and out of focus, as if fighting to stay alive.
The only thing to shatter the entire illusion was the small, electronic device that buzzed weakly inside his now transparent projection. McGruder was suddenly all too aware who or what this man was.
And as McGruder reached the door to the makeshift medibay, he punched in the security code with trepidation.
He just hoped that he was still alive.
As the rusty metal door slid open with a reluctant, squeaking hiss, McGruder instantly noticed that the bed was no longer occupied. In the same instance, he noticed a tall, shadowy figure suddenly lunge towards him with a glaring flash of metal.
Luckily for McGruder, the Space Corps Marine training still coursed through his veins, despite the hundreds of thousands of years that had elapsed since his time on Earth. Instinct kicked in, and he quickly dodged the blade's fatal trajectory before securing a tight grip on his attacker's wrist.
The man's face looked bemused for a moment, before snarling in pain as McGruder twisted his wrist awkwardly and shoved him back hard against the wall, beating the man's hand repeatedly against the metal grating until the scalpel fell begrudgingly to the ground with a tinny clatter.
Both men were left panting for breath. It was a few moments before the silence was broken.
"You're human," the man said distantly.
McGruder treated him to a raised eyebrow before releasing him reluctantly.
"And you're in dire need of a refresher course in Social Skills," he shot back.
The man scowled back at him, his dark eyes dropping to the hand rubbing his wrist. McGruder expelled a cleansing sigh.
"Tea or coffee then?"