Twelve
The first thing he was greeted with upon entering the simulant ship was the smell. Although it had been nearly a decade since he last scoured his way through one of these vessels, the incessant smell of death had never left Rimmer's holographic nostrils. He'd joked with the others about how he overcame the simulants with his manliness and sheer willpower, but he always kept the darker parts of his adventuring to himself.
While rescuing the damsels in distress and enjoying a bit of romantic interaction as a reward was incredibly satisfying at first, he would often find that they lost interest in him quickly.
The longest of these relationships lasted fifteen minutes.
Including the time it took to eat the pizza.
Finding dead civilians onboard numerous ships who had been decaying for some time was another of those memories he chose to keep repressed. Yes, they had all seen their fair share of violence and death over the years, but some nights he couldn't help but replay the memories of discovering corpses in various corridors. Yet it seemed today would be the day they finally resurfaced.
In the time it had taken him to grab a bazookoid and leave the safety of Starbug's interior, he'd discovered that parts of his right hand were becoming solid once again. And although he knew it was to be expected, he couldn't help but feel disappointed when his cheer remained unvoiced. I really hope I'm not going to be like this forever…
He silently stalked along the wall of the corridor, his eyes darting back and forth as he seamlessly slipped back into Ace's routine. The bazookoid in his grasp began to feel more comfortable the deeper into the ship he went, and he realised how much he had missed this. Not enough that I want to come out of retirement, though.
A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and it took incredible restraint to not jump through the ceiling. Rimmer ducked behind a nearby beam, bazookoid clutched at the ready. He found himself holding his breath as a group of simulants marched past, the dim light bouncing off of their metallic armour.
Despite knowing he was technically invincible at the current moment, Rimmer couldn't help the fear bubbling in his holographic stomach. Part of what he attributed to his ongoing success as Ace wasn't his fighting prowess - he'd long since accepted that he was a lousy fighter - but rather his voice. Ace Rimmer was (supposed to) be a sharpshooter, but he could also charm and manipulate his way to victory.
And right now, Rimmer was painfully aware of how small his chance of pulling this off was.
But I'll never get the chance to gloat at them if I don't rescue them first.
Newfound determination brewing in him, Rimmer pushed onwards.
Maybe I should've done the smart thing and scanned the smegging ship first.
Rimmer rested his forehead against a nearby wall, silently growling with frustration. A glance at his watch revealed it had been two hours since he made his initial departure from Starbug, and he was no closer to finding his crewmates.
In fact, he realised he hadn't even made it off the same level as Starbug.
Smegging hell, I really am out of practice.
He'd been clutching the bazookoid with such force that his newly-restored fingers were now protesting with furious pins and needles. As delicately as he could, Rimmer placed his weapon on the grated floor, cringing at the cling that rang out through the room.
Deciding that it was probably worthwhile taking a quick break from being a hero, Rimmer gently slid down the wall and sat next to the bazookoid, wiping the holographic sweat on his brow.
"Intruder alert! Repeat, intruder-"
So much for a break then.
Rimmer hadn't realised he'd grabbed his weapon, whipped around and fired on the simulant a few metres away until he saw the body collapse to the ground, smoke and blood escaping from the wound. He gazed at the bazookoid in wonder. I didn't realise my reflexes were still that good…
His brain quickly kicked back into gear as he realised other simulants would soon be swarming on his location. He clutched the bazookoid and launched into a sprint down the first corridor he laid eyes on, silently praying that this wasn't the wrong one. The sombre lighting of the passageways quickly became a hindrance, as he continued to dart around corners and through suspiciously-open doorways while preparing to crash into a simulant at any moment. In saying that, though, at this point I'd probably still phase through them…
As he continued his pursuit, the thought occurred to Rimmer that he was still yet to see any response to his intrusion. No swarms of guards had descended upon him yet, and there were certainly no red alert bulbs and alarms screaming from the ceiling. This is almost too easy.
His internal monologue quickly came to a halt as he screeched to a stop outside a row of mouldy, abandoned cells, the smell almost making him wrinkle his nose. Bet Kryten would love having a go cleaning this place. He began the slow process of inspecting every cell, though he was never going to admit that the had to stand on his toes in order to see into them.
Though his vision was partially obscured by his height restriction and filthy glass, he was still able to catch a glimpse of Kryten's head after inspecting the fifth cell. He gave a silent whoop of joy. This is the place.
Rimmer took a step back as he pondered for a moment. The cell door wasn't as sophisticated as he'd expected for this type of simulant - after all, it was only a wooden door - but he still wasn't expecting it to be one that he could simply walk through.
Could it?
He lifted a hand to his right shoulder, the slightly-scratchy fabric of his uniform registering under his fingertips.
A smirk appeared on his face. What the hell. Let's try it.
Now I've gotta remember how Ace kicked in doors…
Deciding to act before he hesitated any further, Rimmer took a few steps back, closing his eyes as he hurled his hard-light shoulder into the door, grateful that his muteness disguised the strangled gasp that would've escaped his mouth. Holy smegging smeg, my arm…
To his disgust, his impact had only caused slight damage to the door.
He grit his teeth as he tried again, and failed to hide his disappointment at the second failed attempt.
Third time lucky was not on his side either.
Rimmer crouched against the wall as he aggressively massaged his arm, ashamed of the tears of frustration that were threatening to fall. You're a bloody useless git, aren't you?! Useless, stupid, ludicrous Rimmer! Father was right all along. You are a waste of oxygen.
The hologram froze.
A disgusted scowl came across his face.
Admitting Father was right? Smegging hell, that's a new low.
Sighing, he absent-mindedly went to rub his forehead, his fingertips dancing across the familiar edges of his H.
A thought came to him.
No.
No, I can't let him win.
This doesn't have to stand for hologram, does it? It can be for 'hero'!…As cliched as that sounds.
He glanced back at the door, only now noticing the decently-sized indent he'd managed to inflict on it. It was as though he could see his father's disgusting face within the grains of wood, and he narrowed his gaze. I won't let that pop-eyed balding git win!
He squeezed his eyes shut as he barrelled towards the cell, feeling the wood splinter under him as he leapt through it. A brief moment of weightlessness resulted in a spectacular stunt roll across the ground, resulting in him being splayed across the floor.
It took a few moments for his light bee to process what the hell he just did. Oh my Lord, that hurt…
"Ayyyy! Look who it is!" The Cat yowled with joy. "Goalpost Head really isn't useless!"
Springing into action, Rimmer rolled off his back and launched himself off the ground, stumbling momentarily at the temporary vertigo. Panting through the pain, he gave a quick look over his shoulder, making sure no simulants had been witness to this destructive act. He was about to make a brief exit to retrieve his bazookoid when a strained voice reached his ears.
"…Ace?"
Rimmer's stomach dropped. He glanced over to find a groggy-looking Lister in the far corner of the cell, whose eyes quickly becoming as big as saucers. Blood was dripping down both sides of his head, forming delicate rivers as it ran down his neck and onto his shirt. One eye was completely swollen shut, with a suspicious-looking welt forming underneath the other.
To Rimmer, he looked about as lucid as a cat who'd stuck their head into a box of catnip. Oh smeg. He's probably got a brilliant concussion too!…How the hell am I going to carry him like this?!
Fighting the panic that was quickly building in his stomach, Rimmer instead quirked his eyebrows and smiled at his crewmates. Sorry I'm a bit late, old chums.
Lister was convinced he was hallucinating.
First of all, the possibility of the Cat actually singing words of praise about Rimmer was about as likely as Satan ice skating to work.
And secondly, Ace Rimmer was dead.
Metaphorically, anyway.
Rimmer swore he burnt those wigs…
Lister blinked furiously as he struggled to get his one working eye to focus on the man standing in the ruined doorframe, the light refracting through the blonde wig strands at a brightness level that seemed to rival that of the sun. Red and blue blurs danced across his vision as the man moved. What the hell is he wearin'?…
"…Ace?"
He barely had enough time to see the man in question give an affirming nod as he lost the battle for consciousness, barely registering the pain that spread through his skull upon contact with the ground. Not this smeg again…