Another Red Dwarf fic
Because the Red Dwarf bunnies are nibbling tonight, and I'm apparently feeling a bit contemplative, and I clearly don't know it's a dumb idea to post fic on Sunday night, here's another little piece I thought of while writing the last one. It's set during the time that Lister is in stasis, while Holly is all alone.
Not mine, it's all the property of Grant Naylor and Aunty Beeb.
How to Make Three Million Years Fly Past
Just for fun, Holly switched his image to the monitor in the mess hall. Unsurprisingly, it was empty but for the little piles of dust that were all over the ship. All 168 of them. Holly had thought about starting up the skutters and getting them to clean up the dust, but it had seemed somehow indecent to him. He felt the crew needed to be treated with a little more respect than that.
Just recently he’d taken to staring at Dave through the camera outside the stasis booth. Occasionally he’d think that Dave’s hand moved, or that he winked at him. But he knew that was impossible. Time for Dave had been slowed down, and a wave or a wink would take decades. Holly’s readouts showed him that the radiation levels were dropping quite rapidly. Soon enough he’d be able to release Dave.
He wondered idly if he were far enough away from Earth now. But he had been programmed to fly away from Earth in this kind of crisis and he couldn’t turn the ship around without a direct command from the senior officer. As the most senior officers were all dead, Dave would have to do.
Not much longer now.
Holly had finished watching all the movies in the ship’s database. He felt a little sad about that, so he watched It’s a Wonderful Life again. He watched all five versions of it, although he watched the last remake in fast forward. That had been one remake too many.
He turned his attention to the books in his memory banks, starting with Agatha Christie. He’d debated for a while between her and Arthur Conan Doyle, but he liked Peter Ustinov more than he liked Basil Rathbone, so it was decided.
When he’d finished reading Nemesis, he checked the radiation levels. Nearly there, just a little longer, he assured himself. Just enough time to read Conan Doyle.
For a change of scenery, he switched to the monitor in the captain’s cabin and then began to read The Scarlet Letter.
Not mine, it's all the property of Grant Naylor and Aunty Beeb.
How to Make Three Million Years Fly Past
Just for fun, Holly switched his image to the monitor in the mess hall. Unsurprisingly, it was empty but for the little piles of dust that were all over the ship. All 168 of them. Holly had thought about starting up the skutters and getting them to clean up the dust, but it had seemed somehow indecent to him. He felt the crew needed to be treated with a little more respect than that.
Just recently he’d taken to staring at Dave through the camera outside the stasis booth. Occasionally he’d think that Dave’s hand moved, or that he winked at him. But he knew that was impossible. Time for Dave had been slowed down, and a wave or a wink would take decades. Holly’s readouts showed him that the radiation levels were dropping quite rapidly. Soon enough he’d be able to release Dave.
He wondered idly if he were far enough away from Earth now. But he had been programmed to fly away from Earth in this kind of crisis and he couldn’t turn the ship around without a direct command from the senior officer. As the most senior officers were all dead, Dave would have to do.
Not much longer now.
Holly had finished watching all the movies in the ship’s database. He felt a little sad about that, so he watched It’s a Wonderful Life again. He watched all five versions of it, although he watched the last remake in fast forward. That had been one remake too many.
He turned his attention to the books in his memory banks, starting with Agatha Christie. He’d debated for a while between her and Arthur Conan Doyle, but he liked Peter Ustinov more than he liked Basil Rathbone, so it was decided.
When he’d finished reading Nemesis, he checked the radiation levels. Nearly there, just a little longer, he assured himself. Just enough time to read Conan Doyle.
For a change of scenery, he switched to the monitor in the captain’s cabin and then began to read The Scarlet Letter.