Thank you so much to those of you sweet enough to stop and review, I'm really glad people are interested in my little ramblings *Happy face* If anyone feels like doing it some more, please do, hehe. They help keep me inspired 3 Also, sorry for the info dump in this chapter, I had to do it at somepoint...
Rimmer sat at the small grey table in the sleeping quarters he shared with Lister, arms folded over his chest, staring at his copy of Napoleon's war diaries, a skutter holding it steady.
"Turn," he said glumly. The robot strained and extended it's neck, making a small whirring noise as it did so, the page flipping over. Frowning slightly, he tried to focus, but nothing was going in. He was listening for the sounds of footsteps heralding Lister's return.
Tutting, he swivelled in his seat, looking up at the mirror over the basin.
"Don't," he muttered to himself as he flexed his fingers once, itching to summon the computer's interface. "You'll only regret it."
He lingered for a few moments, then turned back again with a sigh, eyes sliding over the words. He had no idea where he was in the chapter.
The door to the room slid open smoothly a few minutes later, Lister sauntering in. He pulled off his hat, tossing it up onto the top bunk, then flopped down into the spare seat, letting out a lengthy, loud sigh.
"Turn," Rimmer said crisply. The skutter twisted itself again, flipping another page.
"Three days and nothin'," Lister said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "She still won't eat. Kryten tried to put her on a drip but she jus' ripped it out. I keep trying to talk to her, but she jus' sits in that corner, all glazed over. She's even stopped that number stuff now. I don't get it…"
"Indeed, Lister, why would anyone not what to talk to you," Rimmer said, his tone acidic, as he kept his gaze trained on the book. "What with you having all the exceptional social graces of a rabid warthog?"
"I keep tryin' to tell her, 'we're friendlies, you're on a company ship.' She still says nought. I think she's cracked, man. Nothin' but bits of grey fluff rolling around between her ears." Lister leant over to unlace his boots, his holographic companion shuffling to the furthest side of his seat. "I guess I just thought she'd be a bit more grateful, y'know? Can you imagine if the gelf had found her before we did?"
There was a pregnant pause. Then Rimmer said softly,
"Close," allowing the skutter to fold the book shut before he clasped his hands in his lap, a quiet, dangerous mist of anger around him as he turned to look at Dave.
"Have you given -any- consideration to what she might have been through, you empty minded gimp?" he said, watching Lister's eyes widen. "Have you even -heard- of the Andromeda?"
"No," Dave replied, pausing mid lace tug, the black cords dangling between his fingers.
"Well you should have. Ask Holly." With that Rimmer got to his feet, marching out of the room. Lister watched him go with wide eyes, muttering,
"Well 'scuse me for breathin'." He tugged off his boots, throwing them over his shoulder, then looked up at the mirror.
"Come on then, Hol. What's got Molecule Mind's knickers in a twist about this ship?"
The ship's façade faded into being in the glass, his eyes glazed as he rattled off monotonously;
"JMCS Andromeda, launched September the twenty first, the year twenty one thirty two. Crew, two hundred and eighty seven. Research vessel, commission; seek new deposits of platinum group minerals."
"So that was Lieutenant Thorne's ship, then?" Lister asked, leaning his forearms on the table as he sat forwards.
"That's right, Dave," the computer said with a nod.
"What happened to it?"
"No one really knows for sure," Holly said, tilting his head in such a way that it expressed a definite shrug. "It was all a big embarrassment for the Jupiter Mining Corporation. Brand spanking new ship, all the latest gizmos, off on a treasure hunt, then two months into it's maiden voyage, it went missing. There were seventy four cryostasis booths on board, all with built in homing beacons, none of them ever made it back to earth. The only thing that did was the black box, according to that they were all of them released. Something zapped the communication systems on the ship. Lots of theories went round; they found some source of unstable minerals, there was a solar storm, a rival company shot them down. Whatever it was, not a single member of the Andromeda crew ever came home, or was ever accounted for again. The ship and everything in it simply disappeared, somewhere in space. Poof."
"Smeg…" uttered Lister, resting his chin in his hand. "So she's been floating about out there even longer than we have?"
"Looks that way, Dave."
"Oh man. Seventy four pods… Do you reckon there's more of them out there, Holly?"
"Hard to say," replied the computer. "After all, in all that time, what were the odds of us finding the one we did? There's a lot of bugger all out there for them to float around in, not to mention all the swirly whirly space stuff to swallow them up."
"We've got to tell her," Lister said, sinking deeper onto the table. "At some point soon we'll have to. She deserves to know how far she is from home."
"Not it!" Holly said quickly. Lister gave the computer a scowl.
"Too true you're not," he muttered.
Kryten stood outside the quarantine bay, medi-scan in his hand. Tapping the illuminated buttons, he updated his notes, before looking into the room with a blank expression. On the floor there was a plate of rice and vegetables, a glass of water next to it, both untouched. A drip stand stood beside the empty bunk, the fine plastic tube leading down from the cartridge dangling aimlessly.
"Dear oh dear," he mumbled to himself, looking down to switch the scanner off.
Rimmer hovered at the end of the corridor, watching for a moment before clearing his throat. The droid looked up in his direction, straightening quickly.
"Oh, mister Rimmer, sir."
"How is she, Kryten?"
The mechanoid wandered over to him, shrugging his angular shoulders.
"No futher signs of contaminates, sir. But her mental state is questionable. I don't know what else I can do. She won't eat, she won't move. She is highly uncooperative."
Rimmer bit his bottom lip, glancing over Kryten's shoulder to the illuminated window.
"And she's not said anything new?"
"No, sir. She simply sits there. I am beginning to wonder if I should put her into stasis for her own wellbeing."
The hologram raised a hand, shaking his head once.
"Not yet. Give her a few more days," he said, meeting Kryten's gaze once more.
"But sir, if we don't do something she could become very sick!" Kryten looked up at him wide-eyed.
"Look, why don't you go and find her some proper clothes?" Rimmer said, skirting around his comment.
"Sir, I-"
"Now, Kryten."
The droid opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking like a guppy.
"Yes, sir," he said resolutely, and made his way down the corridor, knees jerking up awkwardly with each step.
Rimmer clasped his hands behind his back, taking a deep breath. He'd avoided the temptation to come back to the quarantine deck since the girl had come out of her trance three days ago and looked up at them. The very thought of her terrified him. He was less than useless with women as it was, but one as fragile as her…
Muttering to himself, he took a few tentative steps towards her window.
"What are you doing, Arnold, you tit…?"
As he reached the bay, he let his hands fall to his side, calling,
"Holly, chair."
A bright blue plastic seat popped into being and he pulled back a couple of feet from the window, sinking into it. Again, on first inspection the room seemed vacant. But a pair of white feet and ankles were just visible, poking out of the left corner.
"Lieutenant Thorne?" he called experimentally, clasping his hands in his lap.
The feet twitched, then pulled back out of sight.
Smeg, smeg, what the smeg are you smegging doing, Arnold?
"Lieutenant Thorne, I am Second Technician Arnold J Rimmer."
There was no change in the room.
"That's Rimmer. A. J. Seven four zero four. JMC Red Dwarf. Eight three two four."
What the smeg are you hoping to accomplish here, you useless waste of tachyons? Since when were you the great smegging neogtiator? You're mad. You're a great, mad, useless goit!
Four small, pale fingers appeared at the inside window sill. Rimmer jerked back in his seat, mouth open. Painfully slow, the top of a ghostly blonde head followed, then a forehead, then finally two large, deep, violet blue eyes, bloodshot around the irises and shining wetly.
Rimmer swallowed, feeling the familiar painful lump wedging itself in his throat.
"Lieutenant Thorne?" he said again, with gentleness that surprised himself.
A pause.
Then a tiny, tiny nod.
Rimmer froze in his seat. He was stuck now. He met those wide eyes with his own dark ones, then shifted slightly, leaning forwards a few inches, trying to ignore the booming of his own phantom pulse in his ears.
"You're on the ship Red Dwarf, remember? We told you when you woke up?"
Another fractional incline of the head.
"Do you know what has happened to you?" he asked softly. His right knee started to bounce involuntarily.
She shook her head slowly. Once to the left, once to the right.
Rimmer looked away for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He was panicking. He rubbed his face, then turned back again. She was still staring at him, just the bridge of her nose up visible.
"You were cryogenically frozen," he said, at a loss for anything else. "But you're with us now. We're going to make sure you're alright…"
You're so crap at this! Some smegging rescuer you're turning out to be!
A faint whistle came from the speaker above his head. Rimmer peered up, wrinkling his nose. Then a faint voice came over it, barely discernable;
"The others…"
He looked back down again sharply. She was resting both hands on the windowsill now, gripping it tightly.
"What others?"
He could feel himself getting up, legs leading him blindly to kneel on one knee before the pane of glass, looking down at her levelly.
Bloody hell, what are you DOING?!
"Other pods…"
Oh, Goooood….
"I- There were no other pods. I'm sorry…"
The eyes closed and a glimmer of light reflected from a fat tear as it slid down her cheek and out of view. Rimmer floundered, looking down at his thighs, a stretched silence sinking between them.
Then;
"Anneke…"
His gaze shot up again. She was looking out at him once more, the fingetips of her left hand resting on the glass.
"It's Anneke Thorne. I'm not a lieutenant anymore…"
Rimmer locked up. He could hear some little voice in the back of his mind, willing him to move, but he couldn't. There were heavy footsteps approaching, clunking on the griddle floor. Kryten was coming back.
With great effort he managed a thin, flustered smile, mumbling,
"You'll be alright," before he scrambled to his feet, face burning. As Kryten turned into the corridor he walked hurriedly towards him, not daring to look back at the window. The droid had some clothing folded in a neat square parcel in his hands.
"Mr Rimmer, sir, I was able to find the-"
"Her name's Anneke," Rimmer said sharply, cutting him off. Kryten looked at him in astonishment, raising a hand, but the hologram simply strode past, hurrying up the stairs to the next deck, mind racing.
You cannot come down here again. Leave it to Kryten. She's fine. Do not try and speak to her again, you total, utter, smeghead…