Eight

Rimmer had lost track of how long he'd been perched in the cockpit. He'd stared in frustration at the consoles in front of him, desperately wishing he could scan for nearby ships or broadcast a mayday call. Maybe even an Ascension Sunday call would work at this point.

A strange sensation in his thigh caused him to look down, and he immediately scowled at the small circle of blue uniform that stared back at him. Parts of Rimmer's body had been glitching for hours, and it was starting to get on what was left of his holographic nerves. At times his feet would become hard light and then regress to soft light. Sometimes it was a small section of hair or some random part of skin that wouldn't be useful to use. He kept biting his fist, anxiously awaiting the reactivation of his hard light drive. If there was one body part he desperately needed right now, it was a hand. I mean, I could probably operate the console with my elbow, but knowing me I'd hit the wrong button and blow up the ship.

The hologram sighed as he watched the blue patch on his thigh slowly disappear, only for it to reappear on the top half of his foot. He threw his head back and prayed to whatever deities he didn't believe in to grant him patience, and to grant it now.

The loneliness of his current predicament had begun settling in some time ago. If this had happened while Holly was still online, he probably wouldn't have minded as much, though he would have had to tolerate the computer's snarkiness. Holly would've had a field day teasing me about this.

With no other voices to fill the gap, all he had to listen to were the incessant and irritating voices spinning around his head. At the moment they were mainly about how humiliated he would be if he had to spend the rest of entirety as a walking lightbulb; no matter how many times he attempted to reassure himself, those threads of worry continued to float freely. Kryten knows what he's doing, he knows how to get me back to normal…I think.

The hologram ran his hands over his face. God, I hope this doesn't go on much longer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the console screens began to fizz with static before a black-clad figure appeared. His interest piqued, he slowly made his way to the front of the cockpit.

"Hologram!"

The figure's baritone voice nearly sent Rimmer flying through the ship and into outer space. He quickly ducked behind the front seat, trembling like a leaf. How do they know me?!

"We know who you are, hologram. Show yourself!"

Rimmer began eating his fist, even though he knew he couldn't scream.

The menacing voice growled. "You will face me! Or would you rather I present one of your crewmates instead?"

They have them? Rimmer slowly peeked around the seat and instantly shivered.

Displayed on the monitor was one of the simulants he had seen a few hours ago invading Red Dwarf. The cold, merciless gaze chilled him to the holographic bone, even though he couldn't feel anything at that moment.

"We are not here to destroy your ship. On the contrary; it would look spectacular with a new coat of black paint. Instead," The simulant smirked, "We will propose a deal. You hand yourself over within the next five hours, and we will release your crewmates unharmed."

Rimmer's brow twisted in confusion. Do they know I can't touch anything right now? Surely the others wouldn't have told them. Then again, the Cat cracks very easily under pressure.

The simulant cocked his head. "Why do you hesitate? We are aware of your crew's loyalty, and we know that you will come to the aid of each other."

If he could've, Rimmer would have snorted. Two words for you, Mr Simulant: Rimmer World.

"All we want, hologram, is to know the whereabouts of a particular ship. One that I believe you used yourself many years ago," The simulant narrowed his gaze. "Our records indicate it was once known as the 'Wildfire'."

Oh smeg.

Rimmer froze. If he had an actual heart in his chest, it would've stopped beating. How the SMEG do they know Ace Rimmer?

It'd been many years since he'd last thought about Ace. Hell, it'd been even longer since he first returned from his duties as Ace Rimmer, space-wanderer and dimension-skipping-badass. It had been good for the first couple of years that he was in the role; his hard-light drive meant he was able to do everything the original Ace had done, including finding women in distress to save (and later discuss telegraph poles with).

But even though he'd been up to his eyeballs in gorgeous women and action-packed adventures for several years, Rimmer had still felt lonely. He couldn't banter with the ladies he rescued like he could with the Red Dwarf boys. He'd run out of twentieth-century telegraph poles to talk about as well.

The simulant quirked an eyebrow. "I see that name does have meaning for you. We would be surprised if Ace Rimmer himself does not remember his own ship."

Rimmer was jerked back to reality and resisted the sudden temptation to present a certain digit to the simulant. Of course I remember that ship! It was mine! The computer was wonderful as well. Even though the computer had strongly objected to Rimmer leaving the role, they had both agreed it was for the best.

The grating voice of the simulant interrupted his thoughts: "You have five hours to surrender yourself. We expect you to comply."

With a final sinister grin, the simulant terminated the connection, leaving Rimmer to stare dumbly at a static scree. He had barely heard the final words; he was too engrossed in remembering what had happened when he ditched the Ace Rimmer persona.

Upon first returning to Red Dwarf, there had been heated debate about what to do with the Wildfire. The Cat wanted to use the interior lining for a new coat, but was quickly dissuaded by Kryten, who claimed the material would not be suitable for dry-cleaning. Kryten discussed destroying it to prevent anyone from using it for malicious deeds, though no one actually took this idea seriously. Rimmer had later thought that no one had the heart to ask him to destroy his only remaining tie to being someone who wasn't a complete smeghead.

In the end, Lister had convinced Rimmer to simply send the ship on its way and let it drift amongst the stars, as a testament to all that previous Aces had accomplished. "That way," Lister had said, "there'll always be a trace of Ace out there, even though he's back onboard 'ere with a stupid uniform."

But given Rimmer's difficulty with knowing when to walk away and leave something behind, he'd made some adjustments to the Wildfire the night before they gave it a glorious send off. He pulled out some wiring and tinkered with the guidance system to instruct the computer to return to Red Dwarf a few hours after its tear-inducing departure. While everyone else had thought Rimmer was simply staring out into space and remembering his adventures after watching it disappear amongst the stars, he'd been waiting in one of the cargo bays for the ship to return.

What he did launch into space, however, were the Wildfire's black box and tracking device. He didn't want to give himself too much credit, but he felt very smug when he was able to convince the others that the ship was now drifting through a nebula somewhere when it was actually buried in Cargo Bay F under a pile of Cat's worn-once-but-never-again clothing.

The only thing he had discarded was the jacket. He'd rather wear his mother's wedding dress than put on that disgusting life preserver. And despite how much he hated the wig, he never found the heart to throw it in the waste dispenser. Eventually he decided to bury everything that remained of Ace in the Wildfire's cockpit, where he deemed it belonged. He had closed the ship's opening hatch, rescattered the piles of unwanted clothing over the top and left without looking back.

It suddenly occurred to Rimmer that that burial of Ace's belongings had been over ten years ago. And somehow the ship had remained untouched and unwanted by anyone, including himself, until now.

Rimmer suddenly looked at his left hand. The sleeve of his uniform remained red, yet for some reason the skin on this particular appendage felt different. The colour of his nails had also changed slightly upon closer inspection.

With little faith left in his holographic heart, he reached out towards the console-

And felt it.

He felt the cold and smooth surface of the metallic covering.

He felt his fingertips dance along the fine creases in the metal from various accidents over the years.

He felt his face break out into a smile.

Smoke me a kipper; I guess I'm doing this smeg again.