Writer's block has put Einherjar on a big hold for me, maybe until the next Thor movie *squirm* So I decided to revisit an old idea for a Red Dwarf fic I had as a teenager. Yes, I know this thing has been done to death, but hey, I'm doing it again, basically because I enjoy it hehe. Please R+R guys, they keep me going. And please try to enjoy :)

Arnold Judas Rimmer watched his bunkmate pensively as the latter glugged back a nondescript grey can of watery lager while flicking through an old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, sprawled on his bunk. He felt his nostrils twitch.

Git.

"Lister, it is four o'clock in the afternoon, if you lie in that position much longer you are going to develop bed sores," the hologram said in exasperation, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. "At which point I shall be forced to ask Kryten to flip you firmly off your backside, scrub you down with emollient and cart you off to quarantine simply so we don't have to endure the stench that will waft so exuberantly from the grubby little pustules."

Lister slowly sloped his gaze up from Izabel Goulart's striking paisley number, circa early 21st century, and up to meet Rimmer's own, his mulatto features breaking into an irritatingly warm smile.

"Sorry, is there something' you wanted?" came the scouse drawl as he poked the fur rimmed front of his hat up an inch or so. Rimmer let out a sigh, turning to pace in a neat circle, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Just think of what you could be doing with this time, Listy! You should be using it to better yourself, levering yourself ever higher, reaching for great things…"

"I am," Lister replied with a chuckle, waving the magazine briefly. Rimmer paused, doing a quarter turn on his heel to look up at his one and only subordinate, however loosely that term could be applied.

"You do realise you are the last human being alive?" he said, annunciating slowly. "Don't you see what a responsibility that is? Supposing we run across aliens, hm? Think of the impression you'd make!" Straightening, the hologram scrunched his face, bucking out his upper teeth and said in a reedy Liverpudlian accent;

"Ey man, ow's it hangin'? My name's Dave, I'm the last of me kind. Fancy a curry and a cartoon about' monkehs or shall we jus' head straight to the disco and get blammo?!"

Lister rolled his eyes, flomping over onto his back and raised his dog eared magazine once more.

"Smeg off, Rimmer," he muttered, turning a page, before slowly swivelling it ninety degrees, eyes widening.

"Look, you need to accept the mantle that has been laid upon you!" Rimmer continued, his own pompous manner returning, hands raised in exasperation. "Don't you see? You're the last one! You represent the whole of humanity! Unfortunately… The least you can do is make an effort about it!"

With a groan Dave swivelled in his bunk and sat up, letting his legs dangle over the side, looking coolly down at the other man.

"Meanin'?"

"You have to think about these things! I could help you. Mould you… Make you a better you!"

"Rimmer, lets be honest, we both know personal development isn't your strong point…" Lister said with a smirk, dropping down from the bunk and scratching the back of his neck. The hologram's jaw stiffened and he dropped his arms to his side.

"This coming from the man who considers the invention of the beer milkshake a point to enhance his CV…" he replied coolly.

"Ey, that drink is legendary! Only reason it's not taken off is cos there's no-one around to appreciate it…" Lister shook his head, bending down to scoop a pair of bedraggled black trousers from the floor, hopping on one foot as he put them on.

"What's brought all this on, anyway?" he said between bounces. "Last time you were talkin' like this it was before your exams and it was all 'Up and away Arnie, ziggurat, lickety-smeggin'-split, F-I-S-H…"

Rimmer's expression darkened for a moment, the grip of his interlaced fingers tightening.

"I just though it might be better you did something with your time other than steeling yourself for the next big slobathon," he murmured, only half meaning it.

"Rimmer, it's been two years, give it up, man," Lister replied as he jerked his fly up. "Not everyone wants to be as socially constipated as you."

"Fine!" snapped the hologram, drawing himself to his full height and clicking his heels together. "Just don't come crying to me when we're caught in the scoop of superior beings who hold about as much regard for you as the sole member of the human race as they would a toasted blue cheese and Mycota powder sandwich."

"Don't worry, man," Lister replied with a grin, tugging his dreads over his shoulder with a smirk. "No one with a sane mind would come runnin' to you." With that he touched the light pad for the door and exited the sleeping quarters with a chuckle, retrieving a cigarette from behind his ear as he did, the swimwear magazine tucked under his arm.

Once he could no longer hear the footsteps, Rimmer sank onto his bottom bunk with a dejected sigh. The truth was he sincerely had hoped he could inspire his goit of a bunkmate. He needed a project, something to keep his mind intact and clear of the threat of incredible, insanity inducing boredom. Having just, unbeknownst to Lister, failed his astro-navs again for the tenth time on the trot, he had to give the lout credit where it was due; he -was- useless at personal development. It was time to seriously consider cutting his losses and focus on something new. If he couldn't achieve officerhood he could at least attempt to scrape his companion off the rung of the evolutionary ladder shared only by him, plankton and some particularly stupid krill…

Rimmer shook his head slowly, running a hand through his unruly hair, grinding his teeth briefly. He was in Hell. A touchless, sensationless, curry scented Hell. He could feel the cracking point on the horizon. If something didn't change soon he might just have to give in and admit defeat to his father. Smeg.

Sinking back onto the bunk he stared blankly at the bottom of the one above, the stupid headline clippings plastered on the wall in the periphery of his vision, only serving to increase his frustration. Letting his mind wander, he idly half hoped that aliens would have the good grace to come by and turn Lister into a string of sausages…

"Alert, alert, puce alert. We have an alerting situation occurring. Alert. Alert."

Holly's monotonous tone snapped Rimmer from his reverie and he jerked upright, the mirror above the sink shifting to display the balding visage of the ship's supposedly brilliant computer.

"Puce alert?" Rimmer said with an arched eyebrow, getting to his feet. "Since when did we have a puce alert?"

"Since we ran out of the little red light bulbs, Arnold," the computer replied flatly. "There's a situation down in the cargo bay. The scoop system picked up some debris, dumped it in the hangar. Kryten's already on his way."

"Space debris?" Rimmer repeated, hands on hip. "And this warranted a full alert?"

"Well, I thought you ought to know, being as it's got a JMC insignia plastered on the side. Shall I just flush it back out then?"

The hologram sighed, shaking his head.

"No, not yet. Though I'm willing to bet ten dollarpounds it's another smegging garbage pod…"

"Right you are. See you on the deck." Holly's visage faded to black, although the sounds of the droning alert message could still be heard throughout the ship. Rimmer turned to the door, saying briskly;

"Open."

With a soft swish the sheet of metal slid to one side and he strode down the maze of corridors, chewing the inside of his cheek all the way. Best not to open his mouth this time, certainly not in front of Lister…

"Are you sure, Kryters?"

Lister stood bowed over the massive object, nose so close it was almost touching the surface. It was around eight foot long and four foot deep, made of metal that was blackened and buffeted from it's journey through space, though there it was clear enough slapped across the top and sides; JMC.

"Quite sure, sir," said the mechanoid, watching the skutters circle the crate, a scanner clutched in his hand. "It is hollow. And there are distinct energy signatures being emitted, albeit very faint ones. There is something inside."

"What do you reckon it is?" Lister asked, rapping his knuckles on the top a couple of times.

"Difficult to say without opening it, sir," Kryten said, cocking his angular head. "The casing is extremely dense, I cannot penetrate it with the scanner's signal to gather further data."

"S'pose we best pop the lid then, ey Krytie?" Lister grinned, rubbing his hands together gleefully for a moment before running his fingers over the object's surface looking for a seam.

"Sir, with all due respect, do you think that wise?" the droid said nervously, taking a step back. "Who knows what could be in there?"

"I'm inclined to agree with Kryten here, Lister." Rimmer's clipped tones echoed through the cargo bay, causing Lister to bite his tongue for a moment before straightening up to look at his holographic shipmate.

"Ship's protocol," Rimmer continued, "is that all unknown objects of interest are to be confined to the quarantine suite until further notice."

"Rimmer, it's a smegging JMC pod. It's probably just the post!"

"Be that as it may, rules are rules, Listy. The last thing we wants is you developing some lovely little spaceborn disease, perhaps, oh I don't know, radioactive necrotising faciitis?" Rimmer stood beside the hunk of metal, leaning in to smirk at his companion, rocking on the balls of his feet. Lister tutted, before stepping back, hands falling limply to his sides.

"Fine. Let's get it on a hover-pad, lug it up to quarantine…."

Lister and Cat stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Kryten in anticipation, occasionally murmuring to one another, Lister rapping his knuckles on the glass at one point and gesticulating to the mechanoid to hurry up.

Rimmer lingered behind then, arms crossed over his chest, utterly silent. His curiosity was aroused by the contents of the crate, he had to admit, but he wasn't going to vocalise it. After his altercation with Lister the last thing he needed was more ribbing. He just wanted the business to be done with, then he could have another go at smegging up his Esperanto revision…

The minutes ticked over, leading into an hour, then a second. At one point the others got bored and wandered off to find the nearest vending machine, leaving the hologram a chance to draw closer to the quarantine bay window, leaning forwards to peer inside. The skutters had cut through the seals of whatever the thing was and Kryten was equalizing the pressure with that of the ship. It had to be soon.

"Hey, Goal-Post-Head, you're blockin' the view!"

The Cat's yowl in his ear made Rimmer flinch and he almost lunged forwards right through the wall. Checking himself, he half stepped, half fell to the side, scowling as the others took residence on some deckchairs they'd dug up, Lister resting his feet on the rim of the window.

"This'd better be worth it," he said, taking a noisy slurp from the plastic teacup in his hand. "At least, it better not be last week's roast dinner again." He shot a mischievous glance over his shoulder at Rimmer and the hologram could feel a metaphysical muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Man, this show is boring!" came a thin whine from the Cat. "Can't we change the channel?"

"Shut up, Smeg-for-Brains!" Rimmer spat, eyes fixated on the inside of the room. "Look, Kryten's got it open…"

Sure enough, inside the mech was heaving off the enormous lid to whatever it was, a small bleep signalling the com-link between within the room and without activating as it went crashing to the ground. The impact reverberated through the floor, a burst of white smoke- wait, smoke, or steam?- swallowed the room, before a few moments later the droid could be heard saying softly,

"Oh, my…"

Dave leapt from his seat, forehead pressed to the window, palms too, his cup clattering to the floor.

"What is it, Krytes?!"

"It's… it's… a human, sir…"

Rimmer jerked forwards, reaching to join Lister against the glass, then swearing as his brain caught up a moment later to remind him he couldn't.

"What do you mean, 'it's a human,' Kryten?" he barked.

"Exactly that, sir…"

He was sounding more and more confused by the second. The opaque cloud that had filled the room was beginning to clear and the misty shape of the droid came into view, slowly followed by the now open pod. Sure enough, there it was, plain as day; the unmistakable form of another human being, covered in layers of grime and soot and what appeared to be a film of frost. There was a clear blue sheen emerging between the cakes of dirt, the casket giving off a faint ticking sound as it warmed.

"Cryostasis…" murmured Rimmer in awe. "That technology was outdated before I was even born… Kryten, are they alive?"

"I don't know, Mister Rimmer, sir," fumbled the droid as he swept the scanner over the frozen newcomer. "I have never seen anything like this. The chemical readings coming from this chamber are pure nonsense!"

The hologram risked a glance at the others, who looked back at him slowly, jaws slack.

"You see?" he said smugly. "Quarantine protocol. Feel free to thank me later."

"Mister Rimmer! Mister Rimmer sir!" Kryten's voice was becoming steadily more frantic. Rimmer snapped his gaze back, arching onto his toes to try and get a better look.

"What is it, Kryten?"

"I've found a pulse, Mister Rimmer! She's alive!"

A jubilant whoop exploded from Lister, who then punched the Cat square in the shoulder.

"Did you hear that?! There's a human bein' in there! A real one! One hundred percent, home grown, human bein'! I'm not the only one!" Throwing his fist into the air while his victim bared his fangs at him, he was about to leap into another barrage of celebration, when what Kryten had said caught him midway.

"Wait, did you just say 'she'?" he said slowly, eyes becoming the size of dinner plates.

"Yes, Mister Lister, sir. According to my readings, this is a female." Kryten gently took the limp wrist that was crossed over the defrosting woman's chest, nodding his head for a few moments as he counted to himself. "Returning to the land of the living as we speak."

"Oh my God… Oh my God! Yes! Yes!" Lister whirled around the spot, dreadlocks flying, the Cat leaping out of his path with a yelp. "Did you hear that, Rimmer? Not only a human bein' but a female! A bonafide -woman-! It must be my birthday!"

Rimmer felt his tachyonic heart sink inside his chest as he stared into the room once more. This was it. It was all over. Lister would be beyond insufferable now, he'd be -happy-. In a moment of quiet reflection he decided it might be a good thing that he was incapable of touching things otherwise he might just had to of gone ahead and flushed himself out of an airlock…

Beside him Lister was still dancing like an inane idiot as Kryten stood to approach the window, blocking his view of the casket, holding up the medi-scanner so that he could read it.

"No immediate signs of contagion, sir. Some minor cellular damage to the outermost epidermis but major organ function seems to remain intact. Recommended minimum quarantine period; six weeks."

Rimmer nodded slowly, though most of it went in one ear and out the other. There was another human being in there…

"Oooooh, I'm in the mooooood for dancin', romancin'-"

"SHUT UP, LISTER! JUST SHUT UP!"

"Well, what the smeg is your problem, Captain Moodkill-"

The sound of someone being very noisily sick erupted over the speaker.

Silence descended upon them. Teeteringly slow, Kryten turned aside to stare at the pod, it's occupant revealed hanging over the side of it, straggly hair clinging to her face as she raised her gaze, eyes bloodshot and streaming, her last meal splattered all over the floor.

"Smeg…" murmured Rimmer.