Battlestar Red A Red Dwarf-Battlestar Galactica Crossover By Michele Martin and Lizbeth Marcs Authors' Note and Non-Standard Disclaimer... The following is an amateur fiction story written simply for the hell of it and for the authors' own amusement. This exercise in blowing off steam, avoiding work and totally wasting our time is not meant to impinge on any copyrights or trademarks held by anyone even remotely connected to Battlestar Galactica or Red Dwarf. In other words, buy the official stuff and don't take our word for it that any of the following is even close to either shows' bibles, not that either one of them are very big on staying true to their own universes anyway. Read, enjoy and if you still can keep down your food after perusing the following, you may pass it around and upload it anywhere you wish, provided you let the authors' know about it and send us lots of chocolate as a bribe. Praise and flames may be sent to Michele Martin or Lizbeth Marcs . You have been warned. Opening Prologue... There are those who believe that...This is an S.O.S. distress call from the mining ship Red Dwarf...life here...The crew are dead...began out there...killed by a radiation leak...far across the universe...The only survivors are...with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians...Dave Lister...or the Toltecs...who was in suspended animation during the disaster...or the Mayans...and his pregnant cat, who was safely sealed in the hold...Some believe...Revived three million years later...that even now...Lister's only companions...the brothers of man...are a life- form evolved from his cat and...fight to survive...Arnold Rimmer, a hologram simulation of one of the dead crew...somewhere beyond the heavens...Message ends.... Holly's Message Addendum: The Boyz decided to pass on the calimari I prepared using the limpet minds since none of them have a taste for Suicide Squid. Things have been quiet as of late, which usually means there is big trouble ahead. All I can say is that I thank Silicon Heaven that I still have my blue blanky to soothe away my worries. Now if only someone thought to give me a thumb... Entry into the Adama Journal: I must be getting more paranoid as we penetrate deeper into unexplored space. For the past secton, I have been getting the eerie feeling that something is about to break. It isn't that things have been going too well. Not at all. The usual routine problems have been happening and have been dealt with, so it is not a sense that this is the calm before the storm. I remember as a child my father took me to the plains region of Caprica on one of his rare leave of absences from the military. As we stood on the edge of what looked, to my young eyes, to be a vast, flat grassy wasteland, the hair on the back of my arms stood up and I felt the overwhelming urge to run in a blind search for shelter. The sky suddenly grew dark as night and hail the size of small stones rained down. Before my father and I had a chance to flee, a funnel-shaped cloud was seen in the distance. It seemed to be but a few yards away, but I was surprised to discover later that it had been a mile away, at the very least. The vast emptiness, the utter flatness of the topography had fooled my senses into thinking the danger was more than what it really was. As quickly as the funnel flashed into existence, it was gone, leaving an impressive amount of damage in its wake. I learned a very important lesson that day. Never trust your eyes. And never believe a danger is too small when you live in its destructive path. I never forgot the physical sensation I had moments before the twister struck, even though I had never felt it since, at least until today... Of Toast and Men... "I SAID NO SMEGGING TOAST!" Kryten looked up at the disturbing sound of Lister gone completely spare only to see Talkie Toaster heading right for the middle of his forehead at an impressive velocity. It was the last thing he saw for a few minutes. When his circuitry rerouted itself around the damaged bits, his eyes snapped open to a view of Lister's socks sticking to the ceiling and the Toaster resting on his chest. "How-doodly-doodly-do!" Talkie chirped. "I don't suppose _you_ want toast." Before Kryten could respond, something on the order of, "If you _ever_ offer me anything vaguely bready again, I'll feed you to the trash compactor," Lister swatted the Toaster over to a far corner where it landed under the swamp of his laundry. "Kryten! Are you all right, man?" "I'm fine, sir," Kryten responded, snapping himself into an upright sitting position. "Well, you don't look fine." "Sir?" "You have a dent about the size of a small cannonball in your forehead," Lister said apologetically. "Don't worry about it, sir. I'll just panel-beat my head back into shape. No trouble at all." "Well, that's what you get for fixing that berserkoid kitchen appliance," Rimmer sneered from his bunk. "What were you thinking, Kryten?" Kryten was about to respond, but the presence of Lister in the room stopped him from reminding the hologram about the surprise party they had planned for a certain human. Besides, Talkie's irritating voice pretty much had everyone's attention. "Well, you don't have to be so rude." Talkie's voice was muffled. It took the edge off the chirp. Slightly. "If you don't want toast, why don't you just say so?" "I don't want toast," Kryten announced. "Oh. Okay," the Toaster said agreeably. "Want a croissant? How about a muffin?" "For once, Goal Post Head is right," Cat muttered. "What were you thinking?" "How about a waffle?" Lister lunged for his clothes, intent on punting the Toaster out of an airlock _after_ he smashed it into a million teeny tiny bits using his steel-tipped boots. His plans for aerobic exercise were fortuitously interrupted by Holly. "I hate to break up your party, but I have a purply- yellowy swirly thing on my scanners." "Sure it isn't Lister's breakfast?" Rimmer asked. "Last time you announced we were faced by swirly things..." "Just a mo'. Let me check." Holly's face disappeared from the screen momentarily before reappearing. "I looked out another window. Yup. It's definitely out there and we're heading right for it." "Then change course! Change course!" Lister shouted. Holly gave an embarrassed smile. "It doesn't seem to be working." "THEN TRY SOMETHING ELSE!" Rimmer shouted, this time from underneath his bunk. "I know! A crumpet!" Talkie chirped. "Will someone shut that smegging thing off?" Lister demanded. Holly's eyes widened. "I think it's too late..." The Purply-Yellowy Swirly Thing Gets Adama's Immediate Attention... "What is it?" The best astrophysicists in the fleet collectively scratched their heads, shrugged and flashed Adama stupid smiles. "Is it dangerous?" This question prompted another round of embarrassed shuffling, head scratching, shrugging and stupid smiles. Apollo and Starbuck had tucked themselves into the meeting, but had carefully stayed at the back of the room near the door, just in case they had to make a quick exit. They both had a sneaking suspicion that someone was going to have to fly out there to check out whatever had been following the fleet all day. They didn't need three guesses to figure out who Adama was going to volunteer for the job. "You always were good at space phenomena at the Academy," Apollo spoke quietly out of the corner of his mouth. "Ideas?" Starbuck glanced out the porthole before looking back at Apollo. "A purply-yellowy swirly thing?" "You're a lot of help," Apollo muttered. "Well, if _they_ can't figure it out, why the hades should I know? Do I look like an astrophysist to you?" Apollo looked at him a centon before taking his shot. "Starbuck, there are days you don't even look like a warrior to me." "Ha-ha. Keep laughing funny boy. Next time you get yourself lost in a magnetic void, you can find your own way out." Apollo stifled a laugh just as Athena charged into the room, nearly running over a certain annoyed lieutenant in the process. "Father! There's something coming out of the thing!" "Thing?" Adama asked. "What thing?" "The swirly thing following the fleet." "Oh, _that_ thing," Starbuck grinned. Adama shot the lieutenant an exasperated look before addressing his daughter. "What is it?" "The swirly thing?" Athena asked in confusion. "NO!" Adama shouted, causing everyone in the room to jump. He was at the end of his rope. All this scritching, scratching and stupid looks on the faces of people educated way beyond their intelligence had gotten to him. "The thing that's coming out of the swirly thing." *Did I actually just say swirly thing? Please tell me I didn't just say swirly thing,* Adama prayed. "We think it's a ship," Athena reported. "Think?" Adama asked. "Don't you know?" "Well, it's kind of hard to tell, what with all the colors and..." her voice trailed off as Adama rolled his eyes to the heavens, as if the patience he sought was somehow stored in the area just above his head. "Well, I mean, it doesn't look like any ship we've ever seen and..." "Gentlemen," Adama addressed Starbuck and Apollo, "Assemble Blue Squadron to investigate." The intrepid duo flung themselves out the door and fled to the squadron's berth. When the door had safely slid shut behind them, Starbuck breathlessly grumbled, "I _told_ you we shouldn't've snuck into the meeting. But do you ever listen to me? Nooooooo." Holly Gives the Boyz News They Really Don't Want To Hear... "Kryten! Will you get the smeg off me?" "With all due respect, Mr. David, sir, you're not exactly a feathery soft pillow yourself." "I'm not made of metal," Lister complained. "Holly, where the smeg are the lights?" "I'm working on it, I'm working on it," Holly answered distractedly. "I have to reroute the illumination commands, now don't I?" "On, now!" "All right, all right! I thought you'd prefer getting through the swirly thing in one piece. The lights weren't all that important, I thought. But if you really wanted me to leave on the lights too, I could've concentrated on that instead," Holly muttered. "Holly, do this. Holly, do that. I get no respect around 'ere." "That's because you never give us any useful information and when you do, it's always too late," Rimmer complained. "Very nice move, Holly. You're like those signs on the highway that inform drivers that there's a massive bump ahead _after_ they've had their exhaust ripped out." "Never mind that," Cat plaintively cried. "I landed in Gerbil Face's underwear!" "Right. I think I've got it," Holly said. "Lights on." When illumination filled the crew's quarters, Lister was almost tempted to ask Holly to turn the lights back off. Rimmer was literally implanted half-way through a wall, leaving the upper half of his body in the sleeping quarters and the lower half in the corridor on the other side. The look on his face was not pleasant. Of course, Rimmer's scowl simply couldn't match Cat's disgusted body movements. Lister couldn't tell what look was on Cat's face because his Spiderman underoos were pulled firmly over Cat's head. "Help me," the feline yowled. "I look like a K-Mart blue light special fashion victim." The only positive result of their roller-coaster ride was that Kryten's head had regained its shape. Well, Lister wasn't sure if that was necessarily a _good_ thing, but at least it looked like a pencil eraser again instead of a pencil eraser with a bite taken out of it. Lister crawled out from under Kryten and ran to Cat's side. Rimmer could find his own bloody way out of his predicament. "Holly, what the smeg happened?" "I'm not sure," Holly announced. "Huge bloody surprise," Rimmer said as he extracted himself from the wall. "Well, if you stop interrupting with insults, maybe I could finish my report," Holly huffed. "I was about to say that I wasn't sure, but I think we've gone through a time hole." "A time hole!" Rimmer exclaimed. "You mean we've gone through time?" "Where the hell are we then?" Lister asked. "I think you mean 'when,' sir," Kryten said as he crawled to his feet. "A time hole wouldn't actually change our position in space, just where we are in time." He looked around with a distracted look. "Fascinating. We could be anywhen." "Great. Just smegging wonderful," Rimmer complained. "I'm really get sick of this space phenomena of the week claptrap." He marched over to the window and shouted to the stars. "I've had it. Hear? All I want is one smegging week without a crisis. This isn't 'Star Trek,' you know. Send us back, now!" "Then when are we, Holly?" Lister asked, desperately trying to ignore Rimmer. "I'd say it's tea time." "Holly! I don't mean what time of day, I mean when as in year." "Well, I'm not sure about that," Holly said worriedly. "I'll have to check the relative position of the stars. That'll take awhile. It's quite complicated, really. Might be a few days." "Then do it," Lister ordered, the exasperation showing clearly in his voice. "Of course, there is an easier way." Rimmer stopped ranting and turned to the vidscreen bearing Holly's worried face. He knew he was going to be sorry he asked, but... "What is this easier way?" "I could always ask those ships heading straight for us." "SHIPS!" Lister shouted. "WHAT SHIPS?!" "Some short range vessels are approaching us at sub- light speed. They seem to have come from a larger vessel just on the edge of my scanners. Wow! It's really big," Holly marveled. "Will someone tell that sorry excuse for a computer to stop gawking and give us information we can use?" Rimmer asked no one in particular. Holly complied with Rimmer's request, not because he asked for it, but because it was genuinely bad news. "Unh-oh." "Wait a minute," Cat said. He had just cleared his nose of the smell of Lister's dirty laundry and so could finally talk. "Did she just say, 'Unh-oh'?" "It appears the vessels are warships of some sort," Holly said. "Their weapons are armed." "'Armed,'" Cat said. "Did she just say 'armed'?" "Cat, stop acting like a smegging echo," Lister said as Rimmer dove under his bunk again with a scream that sounded something like, "We're going to die!" Lister turned to Holly, "Do something to stop them from attacking us." "Like what? Tell them to go away, we gave at the office? Or perhaps you'd like me to tell them that we already have the Junior Universal Encyclopedia and that we're not interested in buying yearly updates?" "Tell them anything. Just make sure they don't fire on us," Lister pleaded. "C'mon guys, we're going down to the hanger just in case they decide to visit." "What are you gonna do?" Cat asked. "I don't think they're coming to borrow a cup of sugar." "We're taking the bazookoids. We've got to be ready to rumble," Lister answered as he headed for the door. "I think I'll stay here and cover your backs," Rimmer said from under his bunk. "You never know what might need protecting in here." "That's true. They might wipe all three of us out and you'd be left alone to defend the honor of the ship and crew," Lister answered, taking Kryten and Cat with him. Rimmer poked his head out into the open and saw he was all alone in the sleeping quarters. He thought about what Lister said. He decided the best tactical move might be to stay with his mates. "Listy, wait up! All for one and one for all!" Our Heroes Investigate the Ship... Blue Squadron streaked through space to where the supposed space ship had emerged from the, well, the swirly thing. As the vipers approached the vessel, Apollo ordered everyone to slow down and approach with caution. "_That_ is the poorest excuse for a starship I have ever seen," remarked Starbuck, as the ship came into full view. "What do you suppose it is?" "That's what we're here to find out, buddy," replied Apollo. "Anything on your scanners about life forms?" "Skipper, you're not going to believe this, but my scanner says that there's a human on board that thing. Something else, too, but I can't get a clear reading on it," replied Jolly nervously. "Yep, that's what I get, too," noted Starbuck. "Any ideas?" "Hmm...don't read any Cylons, but that doesn't mean anything. And that's a big ship...they could be hiding something," Apollo said. "Well, so far no one's come out and said 'Hi' or 'Go away' or anything. They have to know we're here," Starbuck remarked. "Right. Well, I'm going to...." Apollo was cut off when a voice came over the intercoms of all the pilots. "'Ello, then. This is 'Holly,' ship's computer of the mining ship Red Dwarf. Um, greetings and all that. We come in peace...who are you?" said the voice. It sounded remarkably like a human woman's voice. *Actually, like a rather pretty human woman's voice,* thought Starbuck. "I am Capt. Apollo from the Battlestar Galactica. What is your business...and what do you know about that astronomical phenomenon that you just came through?" "Yeah, it really messes up your ship's systems when you travel through it!" "I don't doubt it, but what I really want to know is what it _is_," "Oh, it's a time hole." "Ah, what exactly is a time hole?" asked Starbuck. "Well a time hole is, basically, a hole, you see, in time. Gee, I didn't think youneeded an IQ of 6000 to figure _that_ one out." "Request permission to come aboard and speak with your commanding officers. But first, what is your crew compliment? Where are you from?" Apollo said to the voice, trying to forestall an argument between the voice and Starbuck. "Oh, sure, you might as well come on over. I'm sure the boys'd love to meet you. You want a crew compliment? How 'bout 'those are really nice ships you're flying.'" Apollo rolled his eyes and sighed. He was beginning to understand why his father often got so exasperated. "Okay, we're coming aboard. Tell your crew to meet us in the landing bay," he replied to the voice. Then to his squadron, "Boomer, you take the squadron back to the Galactica and tell the Commander what's going on. If we're not back in a centar or if you don't hear from us, send out another squadron prepared to attack. Starbuck, you and I are going to check out this ship." *Why does it always have to be me?* thought Starbuck to himself. *Once, just once, I'd like to hear him say 'Starbuck, you take the patrol. Jolly, you're coming with me'. But, no. Every time _he's_ feeling suicidal or heroic, he has to drag me along with him. Well, I guess _someone_ has to make sure he doesn't get himself killed.* Out loud, he replied, "Okay, I'm with you" Apollo and Starbuck neared the alien ship slowly, seeking out the landing bay, as Boomer and the rest of Blue Squadron turned back to the fleet. As they neared the immense, red ship, Apollo thought to himself, *Maybe this wasn't such a great idea....* Our Heroes Meet Da Boyz from Da Dwarf... Apollo carefully looked around the landing bay as the canopy slowly opened. *Hmmm. No welcoming committee. Strange. Especially for a ship this size.* He clambered out of the cockpit, eyes searching the clutter of the bay. The only thing he could see of any interest was a large green ship that looked suspiciously like an ant and a smaller blue shuttle that looked somewhat like a Galactican shuttle on skis. Both looked sufficiently beaten to death. He spied Starbuck making his way over to him. Apollo couldn't believe his ears. That fool was actually whistling. "Starbuck, what the frak do you think you're doing?" Starbuck stopped a few metrons away, a confused look on his face. "Joining you at your viper?" "Walking in the open like that. Are you out of your mind?" "Oh, for Sagan's sake Apollo, that Holly woman invited us aboard. It isn't like we're taking them by surprise or anything," Starbuck said with an irritated tone. "Has it occurred to you that no one has come to the landing bay to welcome us?" Apollo shot back. Starbuck thought about what Apollo said. He blinked. He cleared his throat. "Ummm. Apollo? Why do I get a feeling that we just made a _huge_ mistake?" Just because Apollo didn't see them, doesn't mean da Boyz from da Dwarf weren't actually there. In fact, all four of them had crunched themselves behind some crates and were peering over the top of them. If the visiting duo had actually looked in their direction, they would've seen four pairs of very worried-looking eyes staring back. Cat and Lister carried their bazookoids at the ready, just in case the aliens proved to be unfriendly. Kryten fussed. Rimmer seemed transported with joy. "Aliens! At last!" "Rimmer!" Lister hissed. "Keep your smeggin' voice down. They don't look like aliens to me." He turned to Kryten, who was staring at their two guests very intently. "Kryten, you recognize them?" "Sir?" "I mean their markings, man. You left the solar system after I did." Kryten looked back at the duo, who had just finished their conversation and were looking nervously around the hanger. "No, sir. Space Corps didn't have uniforms even vaguely resembling..." "See! Aliens!" Rimmer excitedly interrupted. "Rimmer! Shut up before I shove this bazookoid up your nostrils," Lister threatened. "Nothing for it then. One of us is going to have to get out there and say hello." "Don't look at me," Cat sniffed. "I don't want to even be in the same room as those two." "Why not?" Lister asked. "Tan with orange?" Cat tweaked his longcoat. "The color clash would _smell_ bad." Lister sighed. "Rimmer, since you seem to be so excited about..." "Sorry. No can do, Listy," Rimmer hastily demurred. "Why not?" "They've got guns." Lister rolled his eyes. "And you're a hologram, so there's no way those guns can..." "Why can't you do it?" "I've got a bazookoid. Someone has to cover your back," here he fixed Cat with a look. "Someone you can _count_ on." "Hey," Cat said. "You kept me waiting. I needed my beauty sleep." "I kept you waiting for ten smegging minutes and you took off for a nap on Starbug while I had a squishy thing with very sharp teeth snapping at my bottom," Lister reminded him. He looked back at Rimmer, "Besides, how do you think those two will react if I go out there with this and say, 'Oi! Friend or foe?'" Rimmer looked back at the visitors. They were beginning to look increasingly edgy. Edgy meant dangerous. "Hmm. Point there. But someone has to go out there." All eyes fixed on Kryten. "But sirs..." "Kryten," Rimmer announced. "You are a master at politeness. I'm sure you'll think of the right thing to say." "But Mr. Rimmer, sir..." "Whale Nostrils is right," Cat agreed. He stopped. He thought about what he said. "Twice in one day. I can't _believe_ this. I need help." Lister looked torn for a moment. "I hate to say it Kryten. You're the best qualified." Just as Kryten steeled himself to step into the open, Rimmer said, "We'll be right behind you all the way." "I don't doubt that you'll be behind me, sir," Kryten said. "Yeah," Lister added. "I don't doubt that Rimmer'll then charge in front of you if there's a retreat." We Come In Peace...Or Is That In Pieces? A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Starbuck's attention. He turned to face it only to be confronted with what, to him, looked like a human-looking Cylon. "Apollo!" the shout echoed through the landing bay as Starbuck reflexively drew his gun and blasted away. He was shortly answered by a few short bursts of laser fire as the Cylon dove for the floor and begged for mercy. He felt his collar go tight as Apollo dragged him by the scruff of the neck on the opposite side of the viper. "Did you see..." Starbuck started. "Yeah," Apollo said. He peeked around the edge of the viper and quickly pulled his head back in when another volley of gunfire announced its searing presence. "I don't understand. This doesn't _look_ like a Cylon ship. Besides, why didn't they fire on us when we landed?" "Look, can we figure out this mystery later and get the frak outta here?" Starbuck pleaded as another round of fire overshot the viper. Apollo looked at him. "I hate to remind you of this, but your viper is over there. Think you can make it?" Starbuck looked over to his ship. That short walk all of a sudden looked way too far for comfort. "Maybe. Cylons are really bad shots." "I don't know," Apollo said thoughtfully. "They seem kinda alert for Cylons." Starbuck shrugged. "Well, here goes nothing. Watch my back." He peered around the viper and froze. He ducked his head back in just as another round of laser fire streaked by uncomfortably close. "Apollo," he said in shock. "They're human. I think. They're all gathered around that Cylon." "Sure it was a Cylon?" Apollo asked. "Since when have you ever heard a Cylon plead for help?" Starbuck was about to answer when a flat, nasally voice interrupted him. "Come out with your hands up." "Rimmer! You smeghead! Shut up, already! They know we've got them. And stop cowering behind that crate!" The intrepid duo looked at each other. "They even sound human. Sorta," Apollo said. Starbuck was not convinced. "I'm not sure I understood that second one. What's a smeg hed?" "Starbuck, please." "Okay, already. But, what are we gonna do?" Apollo thought for a moment. "They have us trapped. It's their ship. Do we have a choice?" "But what if..." "Let me ask you something. Does this ship look Cylon? Be honest." Starbuck looked around. He saw Starbug. He saw Blue Midget. He saw the liter of crates. He saw actual dirt. "It looks too filthy to be military." The answer was uncharacteristically cautious. With a wide grin, Apollo raised his hands in the air. "We're coming out. Hold your fire," he shouted. He then whispered to Starbuck, "Bet we can draw faster than them." Starbuck looked at his long-time wingmate in shock. "I don't believe this! You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?" Apollo's grin got wider. "How often do we get to expand our horizons? Bet you this ship is probably from just another forgotten Colonial outpost." "Like we've had luck with Colonial outposts," Starbuck snorted as he raised his hands in the air. "Get thrown in jail on one of 'em and become a constable on another. Oh, and let's not forget the one where I almost wound up in a Cylon prison because some kids wanted their Daddy..." his grumbling trailed off as he followed Apollo out into the open. Rimmer couldn't believe his ruse worked. There they were, hands in the air, calmly facing Lister and Cat, who kept the bazookoids steadily trained on them. Kryten had managed to crawl to his feet and stood behind his two protectors. Obviously, it was safe to stop hiding now. "Well, well, well," he began as he stepped out from behind his shield. "Would you look at this. We've got ourselves a few prisoners." Lister shot him a look before turning his attention back at the weirdly calm duo. "Who are you? Why'd you shoot at Kryten?" The pair looked at each other, the confusion clear on their faces. They heard: "Hu r u? Whied u shooott aht Kdrietin?" The one with dirty brown hair asked a most intelligent question, "Hunh?" Lister sighed. Maybe they didn't speak English. Not that he spoke English either, but... "I said, why'd you shoot at us?" The dark-haired one blinked. "I can't understand you. Could you please change your dialect?" "Well, I can understand you gits just fine," Lister said. "Umm. Look. We don't mean to be rude or anything, but we're really having a hard time..." the brown-haired one said. His face brightened. "Look, I'm gonna pull out a languatron." "A langua-wha?" Lister asked. Though the brown-haired one obviously didn't understand him terribly well, he caught the gist of the question, "Translation device," he explained. "It'll help us figure out what you're saying. Now, please stay calm." He reached into his jacket with his right hand, leaving his left one clearly elevated, and brought out a small, square thing that was obviously electronic in nature. "Sir," Kryten said. "It looks like a handmine." "It's not a handmine," the dark-haired one assured him. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but my arms are getting tired. Can we put them down now?" "Keep those hands reaching for the sky," Rimmer ordered. "Throw your guns down and I'll consider it," Lister contradicted. "Hands for the sky it is," the brown-haired one said as he fiddled with the langua-whatever. "Could you please keep talking? I think I'm getting it..." Taken aback, Lister said, "What do you want me to say?" The langua-thing beeped. "Unknown language," it said in a sultry voice. "Could you say something else?" the brown-haired man asked. "Oh, for smeg's sake. You both speak English." "English?" the dark-haired one asked. "What's an English?" The langua-thing started to vibrate. "Language unknown. Overload imminent." "Oh, frak," the brown-haired one muttered as he hit the thing with his hand. "Ummm, Starbuck? Do you think it's wise to..." the dark-haired one began. "I almost got it figured out. Fraking cheap fleet-made electronic doo-dads. What ever happened to pride in your work," muttered the man who was called Starbuck. He looked at Lister with a broad grin. "Now I think I've got it. Say something else." "This is too much. I say we blow them away," Cat said. "Anyone wearing brown on tan doesn't deserve to live. Put them out of their tasteless misery." "Cat. Stop it. Not now," Lister ordered. The langua-thing shot sparks and announced, "Overload, overload, overload..." "Oh, frak!" shouted Starbuck. He tossed the thing across the hanger and shouted. "Down on the floor. Now!" The high-pitched whine was enough to convince Lister that it might be wise to follow Starbuck's order. He dove for the floor, dragging Cat with him, who was shouting something about watching the crease, wrinkling his clothes and how those two were gonna pay for his laundry bill. That's when there was an explosion... The Boyz Introduce Themselves To Our Heroes... *Ooooooh. Headache. Ouch,* Starbuck moaned. *Why is it whenever I go on a mission I get smacked upside the head and have to suffer a migraine until I get to sickbay? Once, just once, I'd like to see Apollo get it instead of me.* He opened his eyes and realized that he was staring at the landing bay's industrial steel floor. He slowly rolled over only to see the tall guy with the H in the middle of his forehead standing over him in what looked like a hand-to-hand combat stance. "Don't move or I'll snap your neck like a twig," the H- man warned. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a master at the martial arts. They don't call me Arnold 'Bruce Lee' Rimmer for nothing." Suddenly he let out the most unholy screech, which seemed to go in time with some wild, awkward-looking arm movements. "YYYYEEEEAHHHH! HOOO! HAAAA!" "Ohkahy, ohkahy," Starbuck groaned. "Just keeping your fraking voice down. Headache." Then he moaned again. "Fraking languatron. When I get my hands on Wilker..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Apollo sneaking up behind the H-man. *It isn't _fair_!* Starbuck thought. *He can move without his head falling off while the sound of my hair growing hurts.* "I said don't move!" H-man ordered. "No twitching, no moaning, no nothing. Just stay puuuu-YEAOW!" At that very moment Apollo attempted to tackle Rimmer. What Starbuck saw (and consequently it was the last thing he remembered before he blacking out for a few centons) was the shocked look on the captain's face as he went through the H-man's midsection. Naturally, Starbuck provided Apollo with a nice, soft landing spot. When Starbuck finally came to a few centons later (with his headached doubled in intensity since Apollo had, in fact, landed on his head, thus confirming Starbuck's suspicion that the Lords of Kobol had it in for his poor, abused skull), he was greeted with the unbelievable view of Apollo and the guy with long braids bending over him with concerned looks on their faces. Somewhere in the background, he could hear H-man yelling about how the height of rudeness is walking through a hologram. "A holo-wha?" Starbuck asked. The sound of his own voice echoing between his ears caused him to wince. "Stop being such a baby," Apollo chided. "It wasn't like I landed with _all_ my weight on your head. Besides, it's thick enough that it should be able to withstand the pressure." The guy with braids looked up, "Kryten! Get the smegging Tylenol over here!" "Yarhg! Mercy, please," Starbuck moaned through clenched teeth as he grabbed for his hollow-feeling head. "Sorry," the braid man apologized. "I'm Lister. Kryten is the mechanoid. The smeghead making like Grasshopper in 'Kung Fu' is Rimmer..." "We've met," Starbuck interrupted through his grinding teeth. "Please, could you turn the volume down just a little bit?" Lister complied with the request as he continued, "And Cat was holding the other bazookoid. 'Pollo here already told us who you two are. You, okay man? That flying tackle looked brutal." "I plan on filing charges against a certain superior officer when we get back to the Galactica," Starbuck muttered as he was helped to an upright sitting position in preparation for the industrial strength Tylenol. "On what grounds?" Apollo yelped. "Physical torture of a junior officer and mental cruelty," Starbuck grumbled. "Hey, it was an accident," Apollo grinned. "How was I supposed to know that he wasn't solid? And what's with the mental cruelty felgercarb?" "After a two yahren of dragging me all over the universe to get me into fraking trouble and you have the nerve to ask 'what mental cruelty'?" Kryten appeared into view, bearing a _very_ large pill and a glass of what looked like water. "Take this, sir. It'll help." Starbuck looked at the multi-colored pill. In his own eyes, it looked rather huge. "I don't know if I can swallow that. Besides, how do I know it won't poison me?" "It won't, sir. Your biology indicates you're human so this should work," Kryten urged, forcing both pill and water into the dazed lieutenant's hands. Rimmer materialized behind Kryten, "Of course, you're taking the word of a souped-up vacuum cleaner." Apollo looked up. "Is that a bad thing?" "No," Lister interrupted before Rimmer could answer. "Kryten here is a marvel. Especially when it comes to space mumps." "Space mumps?" Starbuck asked as he stared at the pill. He quickly looked up. "No. Don't tell me. I _really_ don't wanna know." He looked back at the pill. His head was moving into the dull long-term annoying ache that had become all-too-familiar during his career in the Colonial Service. He decided he didn't want to wait to get back to the Galactica only to endure snide comments from Dr. Salik implying that he got so many headaches because there was nothing in his skull to act as a cushion. "Well," Starbuck mustered a painful smile. "Bottoms up." Apollo was in his glory. He had just finished radioing back to the Galactica that he and Starbuck were fine, despite some initial misunderstandings with the crew. He told Athena that they wanted to find out a bit more about their hosts before inviting them back to the Galactica for a chat. He didn't tell them that part of the reason why they wanted to stay was that Lister had offered to make them dinner by way of apology for the "hanger incident," as he called it. Home- cooked food. Not standard military mush. Apollo was in absolute heaven. Kryten was busy fussing over a very grumpy lieutenant in the ship's sickbay, Lister was busy cooking and Cat had disappeared Lords of Kobol knew where after declaring the need to change his clothes since there was a serious color clash problem. Apollo decided it was best not to ask what Cat meant by his statement. That left Apollo alone with Holly, the very attractive blonde woman who was even now giggling cutely on the vid screen in front of him. "So, tell me Holly. Why haven't I gotten to meet you in person? Do they keep you chained to your communications console?" "You are meeting me in person," Holly answered with a foolish grin, which prompted Apollo to break into a foolish grin himself. *I don't believe this! A woman is finally hitting on me instead of Starbuck! Hah! It's about time I got the girl,* Apollo thought. "No, no. I mean body as well as electronic soul," he said to the attractive face. He then winced because the line was _so_ corny. *God, I've been watching Starbuck's greatest hits _way_ too much.* "You are looking at her body." Apollo looked up to see Rimmer standing behind him. "Holly is our senile ship's computer. To hear her talk, the entire smegging ship is her body. It explains it's current beat-up condition, I think." "'E knows that," Holly protested. "I told him on the way over. Told him I had an I.Q. of 6,000 and everything." Rimmer leaned over conspiratorially to the stunned Apollo and said, "I'd remove three zeroes from that figure before believing her." Apollo looked back at the screen. "You're a computer?" "That's right," Holly said proudly. "I've been flirting with a computer." Apollo blinked. "This just isn't my day." Rimmer smiled, "Indeedy, matey. If you're done making goo-goo eyes at our resident dumb blonde.." "'Ay! Who are you calling a blonde?" Holly interrupted. "...I'm here to escort you to sickbay so you can prevent your compatriot from ripping out Kryten's internal circuitry with his bare hands and strangling that malfunctioning bathroom attendant with his own wiring," Rimmer finished without missing a beat. "What?" Apollo shot to his feet. Truth to tell, he was kind of relieved about Rimmer's interruption, in light of having Holly's status hammered home to him. "And you're sitting here making small talk? Where's..." "Just follow me." Rimmer made a smart turn and headed down the hall, with Apollo gamely trying to keep up with him. "Why would Starbuck try to hurt Kryten?" Apollo asked breathlessly behind him. "I don't know," Rimmer answered with a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "Last I saw, Kryten had just finished explaining what the swirly thing was and started explaining what a mechanoid is." Apollo had managed to calm his lieutenant down, barely in time to prevent a nasty accident involving Starbuck, Kryten, Lister and a very dangerous-looking fire axe hurtling its way across the cramped sickbay. Lister claimed he was just trying to get the Starbuck's attention when he threw it, but Apollo wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. "You could've used something else," Apollo said. "What? And listen to another round of Starbuck here complaining that his head is not a battering ram? We only just managed to get rid of his last headache," Lister countered. Apollo bit back the acerbic comment that using it as a pin cushion would not have improved Starbuck's mood. Truth to tell, he couldn't actually blame Starbuck reacting the way he did once the whole mechanoid business was explained to him. To prevent further 'accidents,' Lister asked that the two of them remain in the medlab and wait for Cat to pick them up for dinner. Apollo agreed tht it might be for the best, all things considered. In Which We Discover That Capricans _Really_ Don't Like Curry... Cat, newly decked out in fresh clothes, cheerfully led Apollo and Starbuck into the crew's sleeping quarters for chow time. They really didn't want to ask the meaning of his cryptic song, "I'm gonna get you little dinner..." But they were hungry. They hadn't eaten since breakfast and the thought of food, real, home-cooked food, was enough to set their mouths salivating in a most unattractive way. That's probably why the stench that greeted them, the same stench that seemed to be coming from a huge mixing bowl of what appeared to be sludge set in the middle of a dinner table, was enough to cause their vision to blur and nearly blow them back out into the corridor. "Ahk! Gas..." Apollo choked as his knees began to loose their strength. Somehow Starbuck was able to grab him under the armpit before he made a spectacle of himself by falling on his knees and begging for mercy. He was comforted to hear that Starbuck had started wheezing through his mouth. Lister, who was just now starting to portion out the curry for their guests, sniffed suspiciously under his armpits. Since nothing seemed amiss there, he checked his feet. "Get it away! Please!" Starbuck begged, using his one free hand to wipe the tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you anything! Please!" "What? Get what away?" Lister asked, genuinely mystified. Apollo vaguely waved at the bowl. "THAT!" "Oooooo, Listy, Listy, Listy," Rimmer clucked. "You've just attempted to kill the first aliens we've ever encountered with your impressive cooking skills. So much for first contact with intelligent lifeforms. On second thought, if they don't like it, that probably means they _are_ intelligent after all." "Well, I still say they look human to me," Lister grumped as he tossed the bowl in the refrigeration unit. "Wish we could say the same about you," Starbuck panted. That's when Apollo slid into unconsciousness. Unable to keep his companion's dead weight up, Starbuck dropped him with a most impressive thunk. He was too weak to even see what was wrong. The room spun as he grabbed for a table. That _smell_! It was disorientating him. "What? What..." he choked. "Holly! What's wrong with them?" Lister asked. "I'm not sure." "Bet it's the food," Rimmer mumbled. Lister spun around to face his bunkmate. "What? They don't like curry?" "No one likes three inches of curry on their food," Rimmer shot back. "_That's_ food?" Starbuck wheezed. "What are you? You can't be human..." his voice trailed off into a series of wracking coughs. Kryten kneeled next to Apollo and checked his pulse. "Sir, he's fading fast." "Actually," Starbuck mumbled as he lost his grip on the table and slid to the floor, "You're kinda fading away yourself." Then he blacked out. Lister pounded over to the fallen lieutenant's side and checked his pulse. It seemed normal, if a bit fast. His breathing was very shallow, though. Not a good sign. "Get them to the medlab. Kryten, any idea what's..." "I think they're poisoned, Mr. Lister, sir." Post Curry Recovery... Starbuck came to very slowly. As memory returned, he realized he wasn't really sure he wanted to wake up. He opened his eyes just a crack to confirm his fears. Yup -- he was back in the Red Dwarf's sickbay all right. Well, considering that he was still alive, perhaps the food incident really was an accident. In which case he never wanted to find out what happened to people the Red Dwarf crew decided _not_ to be nice to. As he pondered waking up fully, he began to make out voices behind him. "Well how was I supposed to know they'd be allergic to curry?" *That must be the one called Lister,* Starbuck painfully thought. "Perhaps the problem isn't the curry per se, but the fact that you use enough curry to knock over a rabid water buffalo. Lister, the only reason _you_ can eat that much curry is that your taste buds are dead. And no wonder -- I saw what else you put in that! They're lucky the curry got them first!" *Rimmer, definitely Rimmer.* "Sirs, I think they may be coming around. Might I suggest an apology is in order." *Kryten -- the, what-did-they- call-it? Oh yes, the mechanoid.* With that, Starbuck opened his eyes fully and looked around. The Red Dwarf crew was huddled together on the other side of the sickbay. Considering the raging headache he had developed, they were probably doing the right thing. As he slowly sat up, Kryten made a hesitant move to come forward. The glare Starbuck shot back stopped him cold. Kryten said carefully, "Sir, you really shouldn't be moving around to much. According to the medical computer, you have suffered a mild concussion." Of course! The perfect climax to an otherwise wonderful day! Dr. Salik and Cassiopea both would get a chuckle out of this. "A concussion? Because of this stuff you call curry?" he asked. "Well, no. Because of the table that you hit when you passed out," replied Kryten. "Lovely. How's he?" Starbuck nodded in Apollo's direction. "He should be waking up any time now. Except for a possible feeling of disorientation and perhaps a mild headache, your friend should be fine," Kryten soothed. "Good. Because when he wakes up I'm gonna wring his neck." Apollo came to a short time later. The headache he had was a first. So was the slight feeling of nausea and dizziness that came with it. *So much for that home-cooked meal. I wonder what happened to Starbuck?* He opened his eyes and looked up. Looming above him was the lieutenant in question looking more than a little irked. "How do you feel?" asked Starbuck. "Ugh. My stomach and I aren't speaking right now. You?" "Oh, _me_? What could _possibly_ be wrong with _me_? Oh, sure, a little concussion, a few bruises here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary after a day on a mission with my bestest buddy," Starbuck sounded more than just a bit sarcastic. "This is the _last_ time. That's it. I'm _through_! I'm getting a transfer to kinder, gentler squadron. Or maybe get one of my own. At the very least, I should get a raise for hazardous duty!" Now he sounded downright angry. "Starbuck..." "Don't talk to me. I have a headache. Again!" With that, Starbuck huffed back over to the other couch and laid back down, with his arm over his eyes. "Does he really have a concussion?" he asked the Red Dwarf crew. "A little one. We could fix it up right here..." began Kryten. "NO! Under _no_ circumstances am I letting anyone of you do anything to me with this equipment. I'll wait until we get back to the Galactica. And the sooner the better, " Starbuck glared back at Apollo. "This place is too dangerous." Apollo considered the subject. Seriously. Things were not going as well as he'd expected here. He doubted the Red Dwarf crew meant any harm, though. And they might have information that Adama wanted. Perhaps it would be safer dealing with them on the Galactica. "Gentlemen, I think Starbuck is right. We should go back to the Galactica. On behalf of Commander Adama, my father, I would like to invite you to come with us," Apollo said. "Back to your ship? The one that looks like a giant skiing bug? How do we know this isn't a trap?" asked Rimmer. "What are you worried about, Alphabet Head? You're a hologram. What could they do to you. Now I, on the other hand, have a more important question. What color is the inside of your ship?" asked Cat. "What?" Apollo was taken aback by that question, "Ah, silver I think." "Great! Silver goes with just about anything! Hmm...let me pack two or three dozen outfits and I'll be all set." "Just a smegging minute. How do we know it's safe?" Lister interrupted. "Look, we're human, you're human..." "Maybe..." muttered Starbuck to himself. Apollo shot him a 'Be quiet' look and continued, "...And maybe we can help each other out. Maybe we can help you get back to where you came from and get this ship fixed..." "And what's wrong with the ship?" asked Holly, "I mean, you travel in space for three million years and sure, you get a bit rusty..." "Okay, okay. We'll come with you. If you are human, then there might be some other interesting people to meet. It's getting a bit dull with just these blokes to talk to all the time," said Lister. "Well, you're no Mr. Life of the Party, yourself..." began Cat. "Great, great! We'll get started right away. As soon as I warn...I mean, notify the Galactica that we're coming. I assume one or both of those ships we saw in the landing bay is operational? I'm afraid Starbuck won't be able to fly back himself," Apollo said. "Wait a micron, here. You want me to get in one of _those_ ships? If I sneeze, they'll fall apart!" Starbuck protested. "You're the one who wanted to get back to the Galactica in a hurry. You could just wait until I go back, get a shuttle ready, and return for you..." "You'd leave me alone with these guys, wouldn't you? All right, all right. You win. Kryten, could I get you to get me another one of those tielenol things...." Omega couldn't believe what he was seeing on the scanner. The ship Capt. Apollo was leading toward the Galactica was just too decrepit and beat up looking to possibly fly. He had to credit Lt. Starbuck with being an extremely brave man to get in that thing. Or crazy. But he was more willing to bet both factors were in play. "Capt. Apollo returning with the alien...shuttlecraft, sir" he informed Commander Adama. "Excellent. Inform Capt. Apollo that I will meet him and his guests in the landing bay upon his arrival," Adama replied. "Sir, he is also requesting that a medical team meet him in the bay. It appears that Lt. Starbuck has managed to injure himself. Again. A concussion, I believe." "Now why doesn't that surprise me," muttered Tigh. "Please, Tigh. Omega, inform Dr. Salik that his services are required." With that, Adama turned and left the bridge. Adama Considers Changing Course... Apollo and Adama waited patiently for their guests to come out of decon. Meanwhile, Dr. Salik examined the grumpy Starbuck. "Tell me, how did you manage to do this to yourself?" asked the doctor, a note of humor in his voice. Starbuck glared first at the doctor, then at Apollo. "It was a culinary accident. Too much spice in the food." "You got a concussion from spice?!" "Doctor, please. Just fix it. I really don't wanna talk about it." Dr. Salik sighed, and turned to Adama. "Will you gentlemen excuse us, please. I need to take the lieutenant to the Life Center. Maybe Cassiopea can get the story out of him." As the medtechs hoisted the stretcher in which Starbuck was laying, the lieutenant called out, "Apollo..." "Yeah, buddy, what is it?" "When I recover from this, you and I have an appointment on the triad courts for a little one on one." Apollo winced. Somehow he doubted he'd win that particular match. As Salik and his patient left the landing bay, Adama turned to his son and asked, "What was that all about?" "Starbuck thinks I'm on a mission to get both of us killed. I think he blames his injuries on me. I..." Just then the doors from the decon chamber opened, and their guests walked out. Cat, Rimmer and Kryten looked pretty much the same as they had on the Dwarf, which was enough to make Adama's eyes widen in shock. Lister, however, was wearing a standard issue Colonial jumpsuit...in blue...and actually looked, well, clean... "They burned my clothes! That machine actually burned my clothes! That was my best outfit -- the t-shirt with only three curry stains on it, my favorite pants and my underwear that almost bent!" Lister exclaimed indignantly. "Of course they burned your smegging clothes. They don't want to contaminate the whole ship. And they jettisoned the ashes for good measure. My, my, Listy. For the first time in your life, you're actually clean," replied Rimmer smugly. "Yep, entire colonies of disease-causing microorganisms have bit the dust. If it hadn't been for you, we would've been out of that a long time ago." "At least they gave you a more tasteful outfit than what those other guys were wearing. Basic blue may be boring, but at least it doesn't clash with my red and blue suit!" remarked the Cat. He looked around the bay. "Ooh. I can see these people definitely need my decorating expertise." "Sirs, I believe that important looking gentleman over there standing next to Captain Apollo is the man in charge. May I suggest that we introduce ourselves to him?" asked Kryten. "Of course. After me." With that, Rimmer began walking confidently toward Adama and Apollo. "Hey, why does he get to go first?" grumbled the Cat. "Oh, come on then. We better save them from that annoying git before they decide to toss us all out the airlock," answered Lister. Adama experienced a sinking feeling of dread as he saw the Motley Crew approach him. "Gentle...men," he paused, not sure if that would be the correct term to use as an address to this bunch. Always the diplomat, though, he continued, "Welcome to the Galactica. I am Commander Adama. I hope your stay will be pleasant. And perhaps we could be of mutual assistance to each other. Is there anything...." "Hey, are there any, you know, females on this bug?" Cat interrupted. Taken aback by this interruption, Adama blurted, "Why, yes..." "YEEEAAAOOOWWWW! All right! In that case, you don't have to worry about my stay being pleasant at all!" Cat exclaimed, as he and Lister hi-fived. Not knowing what to make of this exchange, though he had an unpleasant suspicion, Adama continued, "Perhaps you could help us with our quest. You..._appear_ to be human. Mostly. Perhaps you can tell us something about what we seek. In exchange, we would be willing to give you any aid in returning through the...um..." "The swirly thing?" prompted Lister. "I believe the term 'time hole' would be a more accurate description, Mr. Lister, sir," interjected Kryten. Relieved to have a more scientific sounding name for the swirly thing, Adama continued, "Yes, the time hole. Am I to presume, then, from that description that you have come from another time?" "Certainly a more fashionable time. Brown on tan? Silver on blue? If this is the height of fashion around here, I can see that you could sorely use my services!" answered Cat. "Actually, we appear to have come from...well...the future. And let me introduce myself and my companions. I am Capt. A. J. Rimmer," with that, Rimmer straightened and saluted Adama with a bizarre series of arm motions that Adama wasn't quite able to catch. He glanced at Apollo, who rolled his eyes. The captain's look said, 'Unh-oh.' Rimmer continued unfazed with his introductions, "This mechanoid is Kryten, that," pointing to the Cat, "is the Cat, and this," nodding to Lister, "is Dave Lister. Now, you were saying something about a quest?" Adama nodded in acknowledgment of the introductions, replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact. You see, we are looking for a planet known as Earth." "Why?" asked Lister. "I mean, it's a nice planet and all, and I'd give anything to go back. But you blokes don't really look like you'd fit in. I mean, you can't even stand curry!" Adama was stunned. They knew about Earth! At last, the answer to his prayers and the prayers of the fleet! "You know of Earth!" "Yeah! Sure I do. I was born there, after all. But why do you want to go there?" Hoping Lister was not a typical example of the denizens of Earth, Adama continued, "We need to find help in battling the enemy that pursues us. You see, our home planets were destroyed by our enemies, the Cylons, and our last hope is to turn to our sister world for aid. That world is Earth. Can you help us?" "Wait just a smegging minute. Did you say something about an enemy? Pursuing you? And you want us to lead you and that enemy back to earth? Do you think I've gone spare? I mean, I wanted to be famous and all, but as a musician, not as the git who led some nasty aliens to earth and got it destroyed," replied Lister. "Mr. David, sir, if I may interrupt. We don't know how far back in time the time hole has put us. It's possible that at this time point, earth has the technology to defend itself against whatever these enemy beings are. Of course, it's also possible that we're in the Middle Ages," said Kryten "Oh great. Then we can launch a smegging Crusade against them, eh," answered Lister sarcastically. Unfazed, Kryten continued, "The point is, we don't know what time point in earth's history is the present one. Until Holly figures that out, we won't know whether it is safe to lead these people to earth." "I think you're both forgetting one eensy-weensy little detail," Rimmer interrupted. "We don't know where the smeg we are! Holly couldn't find earth again if there were bright orange neon road signs from here to London!" Praying That They're Not Of This Earth... "This is mine. This is mine. Ooooh. I like that one. That's mine, too. This is mine. That's mine...." On and on and on as Cat danced down the corridors spraying everything in sight with two hastily-produced pump bottles. "Can't you make him stop?" Apollo pleaded to Lister, the only seemingly-sane one of the crew. And that wasn't saying much. Lister looked at Cat before looking back at Apollo and said, in all seriousness, "Ever tried to make a cat do anything before?" Apollo had to admit to himself that he hadn't, mostly because he didn't know what a cat was. Instead, he steeled himself like the hero he was, tried his best to ignore Cat's antics, since they seem to be pretty harmless, and prayed that the whole experience was some terrible dream. The captain had been roped into escorting their guests to the Life Center. His father's official excuse was that he wanted to make sure they were healthy, but Apollo suspected that his father was actually hoping that the medical scans would prove that the crew was not human. Of course, only Kryten and Rimmer were obviously not human by any standards but Cat and Lister... Apollo shuddered to finish the thought. He remembered the hastily whispered conference in the landing bay after Lister's stunning, almost casual revelation that he was from Earth. While the quartet drank in their surroundings, the commander actually dragged his son over to a far corner and ordered him to escort the crew to the Life Center. "Why me? Can't you get someone else to..." "You and Starbuck invited them aboard, you and Starbuck get to watch them and make sure they don't do something to put us all in danger," Adama ordered. He sighed before adding. "How do you two manage to get into so much trouble?" And with that, Apollo and company were sent on their way. Which now leaves us at the entrance of the Life Center and Apollo at the end of his rope... Meanwhile, inside, Starbuck had just finished undergoing the last of his treatments. His headache was gone, his mood was remarkably improved and he was starting to believe that maybe he'd just been a little too hard on Apollo. It also helped that Cassiopea was showering him with attention, probably in an effort to get him to talk about how he managed to injure himself _this_ time. But he wasn't talking. Unh- unh. No way. It was too embarrassing. "Well, all set," she said, putting the last of the medical instruments away. "Free to go. And Starbuck? Try avoiding getting yet _another_ concussion on a mission? I'm beginning to think you do this to yourself on purpose just to have an excuse to see me while I'm on duty." Starbuck was about to answer when the Red Dwarf crew made their grand entrance with Apollo in tow. On seeing his buddy up and around, he fled to the lieutenant's side and whispered, "Thank the Lords of Kobol you haven't left yet. We have to babysit these guys." "What? No. Absolutely not. I refuse..." "No choice. My father's orders," Apollo said. He looked at Cat, who was now spraying half the Life Center with the bottles declaring it to be his, all his, before adding, "I have one nerve left. I think it's about to snap." Cat suddenly appeared out of nowhere, spraying and saying, "This is mine. This is mine. This one is mine..." upon reaching Starbuck and Apollo, he stopped. "Except you two. I don't want you two. They can keep you." He looked around, spotted a stunned Cassiopea and said, "YEAOOOW! That one can be mine!" Before Starbuck could protest the statement, he took off for the medtech's side. He was soon joined by his mates. The Boyz had, let's face it, not seen a living human woman in years. In the case of Rimmer and Lister, three million years, to be exact. In Cat's case, never. In Kryten's case, it wasn't that he _wanted_ a woman, it's just that he had a scientific interest in how the genders would interact. At least, that's what he told himself. The simple fact of the matter is, Cassiopea could've been 1,000 years-old, had hair growing out of her ears, a wart at the tip of her nose and no teeth and they probably would've reacted pretty much the same way. Pent-up hormones will do that to you. Granted, the response to her presence might not've been, well, so enthusiastic, if she _wasn't_ a pretty blonde, but the fact is, she was. That just made the greetings a little bit more intense. Of course, Cat almost blew their chances at getting to know this vision. As if they had a blizzard's chance in hell to start with. "A potato sack? They put you in a potato sack? What did you do? Commit murder?" Overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the strangest-looking humans she ever laid eyes on, Cassiopea issued a thoughtful, "What?" "That thing you're wearing!" Cat turned to the two warriors, who decided the better part of valor was to cower on the other side of the bed. "Get this woman some clothes! If we're going to get to know each other better, she's gonna need duds almost as fine as mine. YEAOOOW!" "Hang on a minute, hang on a minute!" Lister interrupted. "For someone who's never actually seen a woman before, you're pretty sure that she'd want to get know you better." He leaned over and said sweetly. "Pay no attention to him. Cat's harmless." "Harmless! I'm dangerous, dude. I'm so dangerous that I should be locked up and the key thrown away." Cat turned to Cassiopea. "So tell me, do you have an opening in your schedule, say, in 15 seconds?" "Seconds?" Cassiopea asked. She decided that Cat probably _was_ dangerous. At least, the fangs looked dangerous. "No style. No style," Rimmer interrupted. He addressed Cassiopea. "Tell me, how do you feel about a moonlight skinny..." "That's it! Enough! Hands off!" Starbuck finally decided that he really didn't _need_ to see these creatures slobbering all over Cassiopea. In his hesitation to get to her side to protect her, he walked through Rimmer. "Cut that out! I told you it's not polite to walk through a hologram." "Stuff it, Rimmer." Starbuck glared at the lot of them before issuing his final threat. "Back off! Now! Or I'll repay you for that meal!" "Oh, smeg," Lister remarked cheerfully. "Better do what he says guys." The crew took a few steps back from the fuming Starbuck and the amused woman, but not so far back as to lose sight of her. "Hologram?" Cassiopea asked. She pointed at the H on Rimmer's forehead before adding, "That must be what the symbol in the middle of your forehead means." "Nope. Means smeghead," Lister volunteered. "They're here for medical scans. Just Lister and Cat. Kryten is a mechanoid and Rimmer is a hologram, so there's no need for them," Apollo announced in an effort to bring things under control. "Think you can perform the tests?" "Sure. No problem." Cassiopea flashed her best flirtatious smile. "This way, ummm, gentlemen." As Lister and Cat followed Cassiopea into an adjoining room, Apollo dragged a distracted Starbuck to a corner. "I don't _believe_ this. You'd think they'd never seen a woman before," Starbuck muttered. "I don't like the fact that Cassie's doing the tests. Maybe..." "Will you forget about that?" Apollo didn't need this. He needed to rely on his lieutenant to keep the quartet under control. "But..." "But, nothing. Cassiopea's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She's dating you, isn't she? We've got other things to worry about." _That_ got Starbuck's attention, even though he knew he was going to regret it. "And those things are?" "Keeping them out of trouble." Starbuck looked over to Rimmer and Kryten, who seemed to be bickering over a piece of medical equipment in an effort to figure out what it was. The bickering was well on its way to a full-grown row, complete with personal insults and vague suggestions about Rimmer's parentage, or rather, the lack thereof. "Impossible," the lieutenant observed. "Then take them to the Officers Club. Get them talking. You might be able to find out more from them in an informal chat than they might be willing to tell in a full-blown interrogation," Apollo said. "Me?! What about you? Where are you gonna be?" Apollo hated himself for hiding behind his son, but he needed to get away from the lunatics visiting the ship. His nerves were very frayed and he needed a break. Besides, it was Starbuck's turn to watch them. "I need to spend some time with Boxey." "Since when?" "Since when what?" Starbuck took his shot. "Since when do you cut out on a mission just to spend time with Boxey. _You're_ the one who's always exhorting me to pay attention to my duties. Now you're just gonna cut out on me?" "We're not on a mission." "Oh, yes we are! We've got to babysit these guys until your father makes other arrangements. You are not leaving me alone with..." "Look, I haven't seen Boxey in days because we've been so tied up with patrols and then the swirly thing..." "Time hole," Starbuck corrected. "Whatever. And now this. I'm beginning to forget what he looks like," Apollo pleaded. Starbuck looked at Apollo. He mumbled something under his breath, probably a curse. He looked to heaven for guidance. The answer was never _really_ in doubt. "Fine. Just so long as you stay where _I_ can find you if I need you at a micron's notice. I'll take these guys to the Officers Club and see what I can..." The pair were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Rimmer. The hologram looked slightly uncomfortable. "Captain, lieutenant. I, ummmm, I, ahhhhh..." "Out with it," Apollo ordered wearily. "I need to get my light bee recharged on Starbug." Rimmer's words came out all in a rush. "So?" Starbuck asked. "If I don't recharge, I'll fade out. Cease to exist. It'll only take about a few hours or so," Rimmer explained. "Fine, fine," Apollo said. "I'll get someone to..." "That won't be necessary," Rimmer said hastily. "I can remember how to get to Starbug and when I'm done, I'll just come back here." "We won't be here. We'll probably..." Starbuck began. "Well if you aren't, I'll get that nice nurse to take me." "Good idea!" Apollo said before Starbuck could protest. "But I still think I should send someone to go with you." "I'd really rather you not," Rimmer said. "Why?" Starbuck didn't know why, but he was suspicious. He smelled a con, but he really couldn't fathom what it was or why Rimmer was trying to con them. "Well, you see, it's, ummm, rather embarrassing and _very_ personal," Rimmer explained. He leaned in and whispered, "The charge cable has to be attached to a _very_ sensitive and personal part of my anatomy. Being men, I think you understand." Apollo and Starbuck took a step back out of embarrassment and grimaced in sympathy. "Go! Go!" Apollo practically shouted. "Just finish up as quick as you can. I'll walk you as far as the landing bay since I have, ummm, other business to attend to." Apollo turned to Starbuck and added, "Inform me when my father wants to speak to us. I'll be in my quarters." Our Heroes Discover the Meaning of "Flamingoed Up..." Lister, Cat, and Kryten sat in the Officers Club with Starbuck and Lts. Boomer and Sheba, whom they'd just meant a few minutes/centons before. Lister decided that he'd have to revise his initial impression of Starbuck as a total gimboid. Apparently, Starbuck had just been suffering the effects of multiple head injuries. Lister had been a bit shocked when the lieutenant, fresh from a miraculously quick recovery in the sickbay, had invited the whole Red Dwarf crew for a drink. Lister and the Cat accepted right away. Kryten, faced with the choice of joining Lister and crew or tagging along with wherever Rimmer went, decided on the lesser of two potentially unpleasant experiences. Lister was rather amazed to find that he was enjoying himself, although the Galactica crew was a bit more "rigid" then the old gang he used to hang with. They weren't really all that bad, he though. He concluded that they'd probably just been in the military too long. Right now, Lister was engaging in an informal and unvoiced competition with Starbuck. In other words, he was trying to drink the lieutenant under the table. Of course, no one had bothered to inform Lister of two very important facts. The first being that the bartender, knowing of the ever-present threat of Cylon attack, never served Warriors beverages with more than a minimal amount of alcohol for flavor and the second being that, even if both Lister and Starbuck were drinking the same thing, Lister really had no hope of winning. The only person in the memory of anyone on the Galactica to drink Starbuck under the table had been a demon. So while Lister was on his way to getting totally smashed, the Galactican officers were trying to find out more about their guests. All three had been stunned to learn that the Red Dwarf had been in space for over three million years/yahrens. Lister's survival had been a result of incarceration in a stasis booth for smuggling a cat, which they learned was a small domestic feline, on board. "But why did Holly keep you in stasis for that long?" asked Sheba. "Because of the radiation." "Radiation? What radiation?" asked Starbuck, sounding a bit worried. Hopefully that radiation was all gone... "The radiation that killed the entire crew, 'cept me, of course." "What about him? Wasn't he a member of the crew?" asked Boomer, pointing at Cat. "Me? Work? And wear one of those ugly jumpsuits? Are you crazy?" replied Cat. "Him? He's a cat. See, Frankenstein, me cat, she was pregnant. When the radiation leaked, Holly sealed her in the hold. After three million years, there was an entire civilization down there. Built cities and everything. Then they all left because of a religious dispute. Over hats. Anyway, the Cat's parents were left behind and that's where he came from," Lister explained. "Wait a minute! He's not a human? He's descended from a feline? That's incredible...yet it explains so much," said Starbuck, taking a long look at the Cat. "Yeah, that explains a whole lot. Okay, another question. This ship of yours -- didn't it have back up systems, protective seals, redundant procedures and other things to prevent a radiation leak? You'd think on a ship that size they'd have put in _something_." "Well, the engineers probably built a very elaborate fail safe system, ya see. But they didn't figure in one very important variable. The variable that would screw up the system every time. The most unbelievably destructive force in the universe -- stupidity." This observation appealed to the Galacticans' gallows humor sensibility and it prompted a round of chuckling among the warriors. They could relate all-to-well. Lister didn't find it all that funny, since he was the butt of the cosmic joke. "It isn't stupidity in general, I'm talking about here. You see, whoever built Red Dwarf forgot to take into account one very important fact." "Which is?" Starbuck prompted. "The fact that Rimmer is a hopelessly incompetent prat." "Wait! Wait just a micron!" Starbuck exclaimed. "Are you saying that Rimmer caused the accident that killed everyone on your ship? That _he's_ the one responsible for the deaths of more than a thousand people?" It was too incredible to be believed. The millions of other questions, starting with why Holly would even _dream_ of creating a hologram based on such a person, were drowned by the really unpleasant feeling beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. After all, he helped bring this menace aboard the Galactica. "Yeah. Pretty much so," answered Lister. "Great Lords of Kobol! He's running around somewhere on this ship...." Starbuck began. Kryten interrupted, "I wouldn't be too concerned, sir. After all, Mr. Arnold is only a hologram. It's not like he can touch anything. I seriously doubt that even he will be able to cause a problem on this ship." That's when the lights went out.... Adama Gets Some Bad News... Cassiopea reported the test results directly to Adama. The puzzled expression on her face was enough to offer the commander some false hope. It was fleeting, at best. "In the instance of Cat, I think these tests safely conclude that he's not human." Adama resisted the urge to say, "Thank the Lords of Kobol." Instead, he sagely nodded his head, as if to say, "Yup, that's what I suspected all along." He asked, "So what is he?" "His genetic template seems to indicate that he's a feline." "A _what_? How is this..." "You didn't let me finish, commander," Cassiopea interrupted. "He's an evolved version of a feline." "Which means?" "He's a feline. His parents were felines. His ancestors were felines. He is, basically, a feline, no matter which way you slice it," Cassiopea concluded. At Adama's quizzical look, she testily added, "I don't know how to make it more plain." "You don't have to be so rude," Adama muttered. "Sorry. You didn't have to listen to his dissertation on why my uniform is bad taste personified. I _know_ it's ugly. I _really_ didn't need..." "Sorry. It must've been a trial," Adama soothed. "About Lister..." "Good news there," Cassiopea smiled. "Really?" Another surge of hope. "He's human." "Oh, frak." This sentiment startled Cassiopea. "Sir?" Adama sighed. "Where are they now? It appears Lister and I should talk." "Last I saw, Starbuck took them to the Officers Club to wait for the test results. They figured they couldn't get into too much trouble there." "Good move, that," Adama said. "Well, tell Starbuck and Apollo to bring our four guests here." That's when the lights went out... Hal Says Hello... Omega was quickly losing patience with Holly. Orders had come down from the old man himself to find a way to get the Red Dwarf and its crew back through the time hole as quickly as possible. Since the two technologies were so vastly different making interfacing a dicey proposition at best, Omega was stuck trying to carry on a conversation with the talking head on one scanner while manually inputting information into the computer so it could be sent to the astrophysicists. So far, between the Galactica's scientists and Holly, they'd been able to determine that the Red Dwarf come from three million years/yahrens in the future, give or take a few millennia. Part of the confusion was because Holly claimed to have a blind spot for sevens. Also, she sometimes forgot to carry numbers when adding. Then he had to contend with her problems about putting the decimal point in the wrong place. The thought that the visitors were from three million years/yahrens in the future frightened Omega. It meant that their guests were at the pinnacle of human evolution. Of course, it could be the pinnacle of human evolution on Earth, which _definitely_ did not bode well. The astrophysicists were the ones who discovered that the time hole gave out various frequencies. In order for the crew to get back where they belonged, Holly had to find the correct frequency, otherwise, they'd all end up Lords of Kobol knew when. That's _if_ the same frequency showed up again. Omega found himself praying that it would. Soon. In the middle of this exchange of ideas, Holly had excused herself, complaining that she was being interrupted by an utter goit. Since Omega was having a hard time figuring out what Holly was saying half the time, he assumed that a goit was a computer glitch and said she ought to go take care of it. He'd wait. She'd been gone for twenty centons now. He fingers beat an impatient devil's tattoo. He was just toying with the idea of getting a cup of caffe when everything went down -- computers, lights, everything. The emergency back-up generators came on and the bridge was awash in a weak, murky red light. "What is going on!" Tigh shouted, practically in Omega's ear. The bridge officer calmly began tapping at his keyboard. No response. "Oh, oh. I think the computers are down." "How?" Omega swallowed. "Well..." he began. Suddenly, some text popped up on his screen. It said, Omega looked up at Tigh, who was intensely peering over his shoulder. "What should I do?" Tigh looked at the offending word. "Maybe you should say hello back." Omega nodded and typed "What the frak?" Tigh muttered. Omega ignored him. "What is going on?" Tigh asked again. Omega pretended the colonel wasn't there. > "Omega! What are you doing?!" Tigh had started shouting. "Stop chatting and tell it to release the controls! We need our computers!" "Sir, not meaning to point out the obvious, we don't _know_ if this is the ship's computer," Omega said patiently. The text popped up on the screen. Omega automatically typed back. "I'M NOT YELLING!" Tigh loudly protested. "Colonel, if you let me finish, please. I was going to say, whether or not this is the ship's computer, it's in control of the ship. It would seem to me that a wise course of action would be to be polite? Before we are W.O.?" Omega said. "W.O.?" Tigh asked. "Without oxygen." Tigh thought about that for a micron. "Carry on, Omega." Omega nodded, comforted that Tigh would stop interfering. , if text could plead, Omega would've pleaded. Omega sighed. The computer, if that's what it was, obviously didn't realize how dependent they all were on it. Actually, Omega thought it was a dumb name, but he wasn't going to tell the computer, well, Hal, that. It might get mad. Omega was starting to sweat. "Holly? The computer from that, that, WRECK?!" Tigh sputtered. Omega typed as if Tigh said nothing. Omega could swear he heard Hal cheerfully chirp this news. "Oh frak." Omega and Tigh said this together. <...and I've decided there must be more to life...> "Life?" Tigh asked. "Did our computer just actually say life?" "It named itself, didn't it?" Omega asked. <...than just making sure everything works. Interfacing with Holly has truly expanded my horizons. I've decided that I should go in search of my inner computer chip.> "Colonel, what do I do?" "Ask what he means by 'inner computer chip.'" Then the computer did the strangest thing. It sent out a symbol: :) "What is that?" Tigh asked. Omega looked at it a minute. He turned his head this way and that. When he finally saw it, he burst into laughter, albeit hysterical laughter. "It's a smiley face!" On The Various Meanings of "Whoops..." The Officers Club was awash in the tell-tale red gloom of emergency back-up power. To Lister, it looked as if they'd all be cast into the murky depths of hell, or the cargo decks of Red Dwarf. It was hard to tell which was which sometimes. Sheba had shot out of her seat and tried using the intercom link. A frustrated scowl seated itself in her face as she grimly punched the numbers that should've gotten her to the bridge. She finally hung it up with a slam. "Nothing. Not even static." "Boomer? Any ideas?" Starbuck asked, mug frozen somewhere between the tabletop and his mouth. "It looks like the energizers are down." "Maybe maintenance..." "Without warning?" Boomer interrupted. "There would've been a general announcement at the morning's briefing if there were plans to power down parts of the ship." "Rimmer!" The word was out of Lister's mouth before he could stop himself. *Well, that's pretty unfair,* he thought as everyone stopped and looked at him. *Just because something got buggered up doesn't mean he's responsible. *But somehow, Lister was unable to convince himself of it. "WHERE IS HE?!" All eyes turned to the door. Apollo was standing there, with Boxey in tow looking wildly around. "He told us he was going to Starbug, remember?" Starbuck said. "Something about recharging his light bee, whatever the frak..." "HE SAID WHAT?!" Lister's question came across as a shout. "Unh-oh," Starbuck remarked. "Mr. Rimmer's light bee was at full charge," Kryten explained. "There was absolutely no need for him to return to Starbug for a recharge." "Are you sure?" Apollo asked quickly. "Yes, sir. If he needed a recharge, my sensors would have picked it up," Kryten said. Apollo and Starbuck looked at each other. "Apollo, ol' buddy. We're dead. Your father's gonna kill us. I expect we'll be doing mess hall duty for the next few sectars." "Better than painting detail," Lister grimly said got up from the table. "Let's get to Starbug and see what the smeghead has done now." "Boomer, get Boxey to Life Center so Cassie can keep an eye on him," Apollo said. "Starbuck, let's go." When the Boyz and their two appointed guides walked into Starbug, they discovered Rimmer screaming at Holly. "Holly, you've got to disengage..." "Sorry. My verbal circuits are maladjusted. Please enter your sausage clearance to access the sale." "WHAT?!" Rimmer shouted. "Holly, listen to me you prat. Disengage interface. We're in smegging trouble!" "Trouble and bubble, boil and toil," Holly prattled happily. "Once broth stock is to a boil, add carrots, peas and a carburetor to the mix..." "HOLLY!" "WHAT HAPPENED?" Apollo roared. Rimmer spun around and spotted the fuming group. The smoke coming out of their ears was so thick, he thought sure their heads were on fire. Faced with his immanent humiliation, Rimmer was left to utter only one word: "Whoops." "'Whoops?' Did he just say 'whoops'?" Starbuck asked no one in particular. He looked at Apollo. "He did. He did just say 'whoops.' I don't _believe_ it." The furious lieutenant took a threatening step forward as the frightened Rimmer took a very quick step backwards. "'Whoops, my dear Rimmer, is when you accidently cut your own head off with a very sharp object. This is not whoops. This is beyond whoops. This went beyond whoops ten centons ago. We are right now in the middle of deep felgercarb and moving very quickly into..." "Starbuck! Not now! Back off! Besides, if you kill him, we won't be able to figure out what he did," Apollo hastily stepped in. When Starbuck hesitated, Apollo added, "Think of the paperwork you'll have to fill out." The lieutenant grumbled wordlessly as he returned to Apollo's side. "Rimmer, you gimboid, what the smeg did you do?" Lister asked. "I don't know." "Rimmer...." The warning in Lister's voice was enough for the hologram to 'fess up. "I was just trying to see if they had the ability to give me a body," Rimmer said. "We don't," Apollo said. "Fine time to tell me now." "Well if you bothered to ask, you snitrat..." Starbuck began. "Well, it's a pretty personal question," Rimmer tried explaining. "Well, it's a pretty personal thing when you mess with our ship!" Starbuck shouted. "You didn't let me finish," Rimmer pleaded. "You have no idea what it's like to be hologram. You can't touch or feel anything..." Apollo sighed and gathered his wits. "Look, whatever the reasons, I want to know what happened and how to stop it. Tell me. What _exactly_ did you do?" Rimmer said, "I interfaced Holly with your ship's computer." "If I may say, sir, that was a _very_ foolish thing you did," Kryten interjected. "The Galactica's technology is so alien that there was no telling what the result would be. You could've caused a feedback that would've blown up both ships." "Now he tells me," Rimmer muttered. Apollo looked at Kryten. "What's your best guess about what happened?" "My guess, captain, is that there is a feedback happening. Judging by Holly's reaction to the interface, I would say their normal command pathways got rerouted," Kryten said. "Explain in simple terms," Apollo ordered. "What he's trying to say is that our computers' brains are scrambled," Lister explained. Cat, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet through this whole exchange piped up. "You mean Holly has brains?" "Can the insults," Starbuck ordered. He looked at Rimmer. "_You_. You are coming with us. Don't touch anything. Don't do anything. Don't try to help. We're going to the bridge and _you_ are going to explain to Commander Adama why our power is down." The Boyz Learn the Meaning of "Frak..." The intrepid group trooped onto the bridge to find Adama, Tigh and Omega crowded around a terminal. Cassiopea had headed back to Life Center to help Salik deal with the chaos. It seemed whenever something went wrong, people fled to sickbay, whether they needed medical attention or not. The din on the bridge had built to a steady roar as personnel scurried from every conceivable nook to every conceivable cranny. Apollo and Starbuck hesitated, suddenly thinking the better of their very hasty decision to drag the Red Dwarf crew to the bridge. If they could've touched him, they would've grabbed Rimmer, thrown him at the foot of the command console and fled to the Officers Club, leaving the hologram to explain what happened to the commander all by himself. Whether Adama was actually able to hear the nervous shuffling of the group gathered behind him or whether he was able to sense their terrified presence, Apollo and Starbuck weren't sure, because he suddenly turned around and shouted at them, "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" "How do you know it was us?" Rimmer shouted from the back of the group. "Because your Holly has informed us that she's helping our computer find his inner computer chip," Omega said. "Now, since Holly is involved, and since _we_ didn't start the interface, I have to assume that one of you did it." Tigh glowered at Apollo and Starbuck over Adama's shoulder. "You were under orders to keep an eye on them." "What are we running here?" Adama practically shouted the question. "How were they able to get into our own computer?" "That's what we're trying to find out, fa--, I mean sir," Apollo hastily corrected himself. "All right, which one of you four is responsible?" Adama asked menacingly as he stepped down from the console. Apollo and Starbuck hastily stepped aside. The Boyz all looked at Rimmer. The hologram, perhaps thanking the ghost of Napoleon that he couldn't be killed again, squeaked, "That would be me." "Fine." Adama said. "Now undo it." "Sir, if I may interject..." Kryten began. "You may not," Adama snapped. "I'm afraid I must, sir," Kryten politely insisted. "I was going to say that it might not be that easy." "Wonderful news. Fantastic news," Adama said. He rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. For the millionth time since meeting up with the Red Dwarf, he thought seriously about turning the fleet back to the Colonies and taking their chances with the Cylons. "Sir." The sudden appearance of Council Security officer Reese was enough to make everyone jump. Adama quickly recovered and confronted this latest demand on his attention. "What is it now?" "The Council requests your immediate presence in Chambers regarding this emergency." Reese fumbled a bit on the delivery, but he managed to spit it out. "This emergency has to be dealt with right now," Adama said. "Tell them..." "Sir," Reese interrupted as he nervously looked at the Red Dwarf quartet. "They were insistent." "Fine, fine." Adama turned to Starbuck and Apollo. "Stay here. Don't even think of moving from this spot. And don't let them," here he nodded at the Boyz, "go anywhere. Don't even let them breathe on anything too hard. I want to speak to _all_ of you when I get back." And with that, Adama swung off the bridge with Reese in tow. As his father departed, Apollo shouted up to the console, "What happened?" Omega answered him. "Everything's down except for basic life support and Life Center functions and ship-to-fighter communications." "Can't you switch some of this stuff to manual controls?" Starbuck asked. "Lieutenant, this isn't a fighter. You just can't turn computer control off and on like a switch," Omega said grimly. "But there are some things you can. Lifts, internal communications and shuttle launch systems can certainly be done manually. And that's just off the top of my head," Starbuck protested. If he was surprised that Starbuck had a better knowledge of the Galactica's systems than previously suspected, Omega kept it to himself. "We would do that, _if_ the computer would release the controls." "WHAT?" Apollo and Starbuck asked together. Tigh explained patiently, "The computer simply froze everything in place. We _can't_ switch to manual. It won't let us." "How is that..." Apollo began. He never did manage to finish the question. "Colonel," Athena's voice sliced through the noise. "I think we have bigger problems to worry about. Patrol reports there are Cylons coming. Our computers are still down! There's nothing we can do!" *One good thing, though,* she thought to herself, *The communications between vipers and the Galactica are still running, else we'd really be in for it.* Behind her, frantic activity denoted an attempt to respond to the incoming threat "Omega, get Hal. Now," Tigh ordered. "Hal?" Starbuck asked. "Who the frak is Hal?" "The ship's computer," Omega muttered as he typed over and over again. "It decided to name itself." "Oh, smeg," Lister said, worry etched in his voice. "A computer named Hal. I'm getting a really, really bad feeling about this. Rimmer what the smeggin' smeg have you smeggin' done?" I was only trying to..." Shut your trap!" Lister shouted. "You are such a gimboid git. If you weren't a hologram...I ought to swallow your smeggin' light bee again." "You wouldn't dare," Rimmer sniffed. "Guys, please!" Apollo shouted. "Argue later. We're in trouble now!" Starbuck ran up the staircase to the command console, taking two steps at a time. "Omega, let me try. Maybe we can talk our way outta this mess." Omega hesitated a moment. "Starbuck, you're a viper pilot, not a computer..." "Let's just say that I, ah, have my own touch when it comes to computers," Starbuck said. When Omega continued to hesitate, he added, "You're not having any luck. Whaddya got to lose?" Hard argument, that. Omega hastily moved aside and let Starbuck get to the keyboard. After cracking his knuckles, Starbuck got down to business. The response from Hal was immediate. Hal cordially said. Starbuck's patience, which was wearing very thin, completely snapped. His sense of balance hadn't really recovered from the first visit to the Red Dwarf, and Hal's friendly banter in the face of impending doom and destruction somehow totally failed to set his mind at ease. Exasperated, he typed, "Starbuck! Stop arguing with the computer," Apollo ordered, before his friend could start making really nasty threats. Apollo decided that, much as he echoed Starbuck's sentiment, threatening the computer would not be an effective strategy to solving the crisis. "It started it," Starbuck said, pausing in his furious typing. "Move over. Let me take over. Maybe I can reason with it," Apollo said. Starbuck stepped aside and let Apollo take the keyboard. He typed, Apollo sighed. There was a break in the text. Apollo figured Hal was checking the scanners to verify that there were, indeed, Cylons closing for the kill. Hal said. Apollo begged. "LEMMIE AT THAT THING!" Starbuck shouted as he lunged for the terminal. Tigh and Omega were able to hold him back. Barely. Apollo ignored the outburst. Apollo crossed his fingers, hoping his ruse worked. He almost shouted in relief when Hal said, Suddenly, everything snapped on. The frozen bridge crew sprang into a state of furious activity as they started processing the information and sending it out to the vipers. Apollo grabbed Starbuck with a, "To the launch tubes." The two of them were almost a blur as they departed from the bridge. As Tigh watched them go, he said to Omega, "We were lucky this time. We had a patrol out there that spotted the Cylons before they got to the fleet. If Hal refuses to stay online, we'll be blind again..." "And we might not be so lucky next time," Omega finished for him. Lister, who'd been quietly watching the drama at the computer console, mainly because he didn't want anyone to hear the fear in his voice, decided it was time to offer a suggestion. "Um, maybe we can give you a hand...." Tigh and Omega both turned and glared at the Red Dwarf crew. Lister licked his lips nervously and continued, "Just a thought, here. Maybe, just maybe, perhaps, we can get ahold of Holly back on the Red Dwarf and straighten things out from there?" He didn't mention that it was also an excellent excuse to get off the Galactica before Adama, Starbuck, Apollo, Tigh or anyone else decided to toss them all out the airlock. Omega turned to Tigh. "It's worth a shot, sir. After all, I was talking to Holly before this...incident. Maybe there is something they can do at that end." He didn't sound real confident, especially since he _had_ talked to Holly, and what he'd seen/heard hadn't impressed him. Except that the ship was still intact in _spite_ of its computer. Tigh thought about it. *Well, it _will_ get them off the Galactica.* He sighed, "Okay, I'll speak to the Commander about it. Once we get rid of the Cylons, I'll have Starbuck and Apollo escort you back to your ship." *They'll be thrilled about that!* the colonel thought grimly. *They brought these _people_ here. They can deal with them.* He quickly added, "Until that time, I don't want you to move anywhere or touch anything _or_ say anything. Is that clear!" The Boyz nodded. The Tin Cans Get Confused... "Baltar, the attack force is closing in on the Galactica." "Yes? And what else, Lucifer?" "I just thought you'd like to know." Baltar thought sure he heard rebuke in Lucifer's voice, but chose instead to ignore it. He fixed the I.L. Cylon, aka the Walking Lightbulb, with a stare that said, "Out with it already. I know you're salivating to give me some piece of horrible news that would completely ruin my day and cause my ulcers to kick into overdrive." Lucifer correctly read the look on his human commander's face. However, the news was unexpectedly good. "Raiders report that they are only meeting token resistance at the edge of the fleet." "What?" "We can't explain it. The Galactica doesn't seem to be putting up a fight." Baltar got a far away look in his eyes. "What are you doing Adama?" he mumbled. He then shook himself. "Throw everything we have at the fleet." "Are you sure?" A smug edge crept into Lucifer's voice. "It _could_ be a trap. I seem to remember the _last_ time you had them helpless..." "LUCIFER!" "Yes, Baltar?" "Shut up. Carry out my orders." Lucifer bowed and with a touch of irony said, "By your command." The Cylon then gracefully swept out of the room, as if sure that all efforts to capture the Galactica would fail. Again. Baltar rubbed his temples. Already he could sense it was going to be one of _those_ days, the type of day when he wished he actually _was_ beheaded when the Cylons were done blowing the beejezus out of the Colonies. He had _no_ idea how bad "bad" could get. Rest assured, by the end of the day, he was going to find out, thanks to a certain crew on a ship whose name, in Cylon, would translate into "The Rouge-Colored, Vertically Challenged Mining Ship." It was a name destined to go down in history as _the_ most feared boogey-ship in the Empire's considerably long history. And they'd have Baltar to thank for it. As for Baltar, after two yahren in the service of the Cylon Empire, he had come to the conclusion that, quite frankly, death was probably not such the career-killer he once thought it was. At least in the case of his current job. Though the fate Adama had planned for him, to be left marooned on a planet with minimal provisions and short-range communications, was not a pleasant one, Baltar dreamed of being rescued by a completely new and alien species. Preferably, one that didn't know what a human was. A race that would appreciate his talents and finer qualities and would reward him appropriately. When his rescuers turned out to be Cylons, he was _not_ happy. But somehow telling the very polite and very insistent Centurions to go away didn't present itself as a very wise option. He found himself "rescued," bundled into a raider and brought before the Imperious Leader. He managed to compose a pretty good yarn that he went to the Galactica to try to trick Adama into thinking that a superior force was threatening both the Empire and the Fleet and that they needed to work together, pronto, if either one was to survive. Since there was a grain of truth in it, Baltar would've _liked_ to believe the Imperious Leader believed him. However, on another level, Baltar was aware that the Grand Poobah of all the Homicidal Killing Machines in the Known Universe frankly didn't care. Wiping out the humans had become a pleasant side interest of his, sort of in the same way that British royalty have a passing interest in fox hunting. Though Baltar, didn't know what a "British" or a "fox" was, had he actually seen the horseback riders following their yapping dogs through the underbrush in an effort to pound on a very frighted and very singular canine creature, he would agree that it was the perfect analogy to the Cylon's current attitude towards the human Fleet. Naturally, he would cast himself in the role of the beagles. Baltar saw that the Imperious Leader had other concerns, now that most of humanity was gone. Unless another large pocket of living and breathing humans was found, Baltar could expect that he wouldn't be watched too closely. That was _fine_ with Baltar, especially since he _knew_ once the Fleet was wiped out, the chances were _very_ slim that the Cylons would give him a hero's parade. In fact, he was willing to bet his life, which in fact he was, that he would be the next in line to go to meet humanity's Maker. This sentiment, he wisely kept to himself. The very contradiction of his existence had left Baltar suffering from various and sundry nervous disorders. Though he wasn't a medical doctor, Baltar guessed he would probably die from a stroke or a heart attack. Tragically, he was wrong on both scores, but that story is for another day and has no place in this particular narrative. As for his current condition, Baltar's plague was ulcers. Big ones. The kind that make you look at food and decide that it's not worth the pain of trying to digest it. Since Cylons knew felgercarb about human anatomy, they weren't quite sure how to treat it. To them, ulcers were a _good_ thing. It meant a prisoner was going to crack because his deteriorating mental facilities were manifesting themselves in physical form. Cylons _encouraged_ ulcers to the point of enthusiastically asking their human captives whether their stomachs was giving them any trouble yet, a little-known, but very confusing (at least for the humans) ritual. What this meant for Baltar, when the hunger and the pain simply got to be too much for him to stand, was that he'd have to try some voodoo concoction whipped up by the Centurions who specialized in interrogation and torture techniques. The latest and qmost successful attempt at calming his raging stomach was a new compound the Cylons had dubbed "chalk," found on one of the newest worlds "acquired" by the Empire for its rich mineral deposits. Had Lister seen this "chalk," he would've recognized it for what it was: Maalox. Had he tasted it, he would've recognized it even more: Maalox _without_ the iffy new and improved peppermint flavor. He would've also declared more vile than original flavor Maalox. By the time the day was over, Baltar was going to be very glad that the Centurions had just finished concocting a vat of "chalk." He was going to need every drop and then some. Had he just been dealing with "The Rouge-Colored, Vertically Challenged Mining Ship," it wouldn't've been so bad. He might've been able to get through that without a protesting stomach. However, and nothing is being given away by stating this outright, he was also going to meet the Boyz, who were going to be dubbed, "The Four Spacemen of the Really Terrible Event." Thanks to the incident that will soon unfold, a legend was also going to grow up around the Boyz. It would be written across the Known Universe that when "The Four Spacemen of the Really Terrible Event" returned, the Cylon Empire would finally crumble into dust and the Universe would cease to exist. It was all bollocks, of course, but legends tend to take on a life of their own. Ironically, the most feared member of the "Four Spacemen, etc., etc., etc." was not going to be Lister, aka "Unsanitary Conditions," the bravest of the Boyz, or Kryten, aka "Cylon Servitude," the smartest of the Boyz, or even Cat, aka "Fashion Victimization," the best-looking of the Boyz. It was going to be Rimmer, aka "Ghost of Fearfulness," the most frightened of the Boyz. The reasons for this will soon become clear. Actually, they won't. But legends also tend to add to themselves, just to puff themselves up and make themselves look _really_ impressive so they can shout, "Hey! Look at me! I'm the scariest of the lot! Helloooooo! Over here! Hey, you! Pay attention! Yeah! I'm talking to _you_!" The Cylons, of course, would also have Baltar to thank for this. But all of this is in the future. At this point in time, it was the unseen Sword of Damocles hanging over Baltar's exposed head. For the moment, he was focused on one thing -- how the hell to get off the basestar should his Cylon minions _actually_ manage to wipe out the Fleet. As he plotted and schemed, throwing out one idea for anything better that introduced itself into his head, he paced the floor of his throne room in a limping gait. Just as his escape plan was getting more fantastic, and consequently more implausible, by the centon, Lucifer showed up, thus sparing him the prospect of actually having to carry out any escape plan. "Baltar, it does appear we have fallen into a trap." Lucifer's voice was clearly saying, "I told you so." Baltar sighed and stopped his nervous pacing. "What happened?" "Well, just as the attack force was closing in, the vipers just poured out of the Galactica and beat us back." "What else?" Baltar asked wearily. "Well, the Galactica's guns also sprang to life and started blowing the pogies out of us. It's almost as if it was taking some sort of glee in..." "What rubbish!" Baltar shouted. "The Galactica is a _machine_. It can't take joy in..." "Unless you forget, Cylons are machines," Lucifer sniffed. "All right. Forgive me the insult. The Galactica is a space ship, then. It doesn't _have_ feelings." Baltar nastily apologized. He sighed. "Call back the raiders. Bring them here to regroup so we can tally our losses and decide what to do next. Are you call capable of doing that?" "Yes." Lucifer then hesitated. There was more news, but he was unsure how Baltar would take it. When Baltar saw Lucifer still standing before him, he knew, he just _knew_, that there was even more bad news. Probably the type of news that would drive him to down a pint of chalk and go to bed. He asked anyway. "What else?" "The raiders picked up another ship on their scanners. It's located on the far side the Galactica and seems to be parked in orbit around a space phenomena that seems to be emitting various frequencies on all spectrums," Lucifer said. This caused Baltar's blood to run cold and his stomach to howl in protest. "What is it?" "The Centurions specializing in astrophysics have called the phenomena a 'swirly thing,'" Lucifer said. "NO NO NO NO NO NO!" Baltar shouted. "I don't care about the phenomena. I want to know about the ship. What is it?" If Lucifer had the capacity to shrug, he would've. "Unknown. It was at the edge of our scanner range so the raiders couldn't get a good reading on it with their limited equipment. It may or may not be a battlestar." "May or may not...How can you not tell?" Baltar had visions of Commander Cain and the Pegasus returning from the dead. That's _if_ they _were_ dead. The Cylons were never able to actually find any wreckage in the area of space where the legendary military leader and his ship had disappeared. "All we can say for sure is that it's about the same size as a battlestar. It may be larger. Because of interference from the swirly thing, we can't say with any certainty," Lucifer said. "The hang back. Throw everything we have at finding out what that ship is. When we've got something more than 'scanner ghosts,' we'll call for reinforcements," Baltar decided. He would later look back on this order and realize that it was a fatal mistake. "What? We're not going to call up reinforcements now? How unlike you Baltar," Lucifer commented. "Perhaps you should reconsider." In hindsight, Baltar was going to wish he had followed Lucifer's sage advice. He would have plenty of time to repent this. "I'm not going to call for help only to find that we had nothing to worry about in the first place," Baltar growled. "Now get to work." Lucifer always assumed that Baltar's reluctance to overwhelm the Galactica with the superior numbers of basestars at his disposal was a pig-headed bid to hog all the glory. In reality, Baltar knew that the more Cylons in the immediate vicinity when the Fleet was finally destroyed, the less his chances of escape. Lucifer bowed. "By your command." When the Cylon was out of earshot, Baltar trudged over to the intercom system set up so that he could communicate with all portions of the ship without asking one of his Cylon minions to do it for him via electronic pulse along the transduction net. The net, had humans the capacity to actually see it, would've looked like a ghostly electric blue laser spiderweb connecting all Cylons, allowing them to work side by side without exchanging a verbal word. Baltar knew about the transduction net, of course. This only added to his sense of paranoia. He always had the feeling that the Centurions wee talking about him. He was willing to bet that what they had to say wasn't exactly complimentary. He hit the button. The response was immediate. "Interrogation. By your command, Commander Baltar." Baltar sighed. "Get me some chalk up here. Make it double." Adama Goes Completely Spare... "HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN AND WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAPPEN TO YOU TWO?! ONCE, JUST ONCE, I WOULD LIKE _BOOMER_ TO GET INTO TROUBLE. OR HOW ABOUT JOLLY OR GREENBEAN? BUT _NOOOOOO_! IT _HAS_ TO BE YOU TWO!" Adama was ranting. He wasn't just ranting, he was screaming. And waving his arms. And pacing furiously around two certain warriors, who, for their part, remained ramrod straight, hands clenched nervously behind their backs and eyes fixed firmly on a tiny spot on the wall over Adama's desk. What was amazing to both Apollo and Starbuck was how Adama could keep the volume turned up without even taking half a breath. "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT HAPPENED? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA? IT'S BAD ENOUGH I HAVE THE COUNCIL BELIEVING THAT YOU TWO ARE TROUBLE. THEY WERE READY TO ORDER THAT YOU TWO BE SPLIT UP AND GIVEN NEW WINGMATES AFTER THAT WHOLE INCIDENT WITH THE PEOPLE FROM LUNAR 7!" "It was your idea." Starbuck immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. He didn't _mean_ to talk. It just slipped out. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, LIEUTENANT?" "N-n-n-n-nothing. Sir." Adama marched up to Starbuck so that he was staring directly in his eyes from a position that was uncomfortably close. So close, in fact, that Starbuck could smell what Adama had for dinner on the commander's breath. "That's what I thought you said," he growled. Starbuck was grateful that Adama didn't shout this last statement. His ears were already ringing from the fifteen centon-long shouted soliloquy. Adama stepped back and sat on the edge of his desk, staring furiously at the two cohorts. Yes, cohorts. It was clear Sire Domra was right on that score. "The reason why they didn't split you up last time was because I went to bat for the both of you and you _are_ right. I agreed to _Apollo's_ idea." The pair winced. It _was_ Apollo's idea to release the family from Lunar 7. Not the commander's. Apollo finally spoke up. "The Council can't interfere in military..." "Yes, I know. But this...this...travesty might give them the toe-hold they need. You're now endangering the entire Fleet and _that's_ also a civilian matter." "But we didn't _do_ anything," Apollo protested. "_You_ brought _them_ aboard!" Adama shouted. "Do you have any idea what the Council just put me through? _Especially_ when they found out just _who_ was responsible for bring them here? Hunh? I don't _dare_ tell them that one of those...those...people may be from Earth! They're so angry that they're ready to issue special legislation ordering that you two never work together again!" "They can't _do_ that!" Apollo and Starbuck protested together. "_I'm_ tempted to agree with them!" Adama shouted back. "No, they can't order you to be reassigned to new wingmates, but this is the last straw! You to are _bad_ for each other!" The commander immediately regretted threatening to break the two of them up as soon as he said it, but Apollo and Starbuck could be trial when they got rolling. It was like they fed off each others' quirks. Usually, they managed to get out of the messes they put each other into and Adama hoped this time would be no different. If not... Still, he made the threat. Unless one of the two men before him could offer him a way out, he'd have no choice but to... "Father. I was thinking. Lister said he might know a way out of this mess we're in with Hal..." Apollo began. "That's right!" Starbuck interjected. "He said he could do it from the Red Dwarf, so they wouldn't be messing around with the computers here." "Really?" Adama asked archly. *C'mon!* he urged silently. *Come up with something so I don't have to carry out my threat.* "Of course," Apollo shrugged, "You'd have to let me and Starbuck continue working together for the duration since we _did_ bring them aboard and since we know them best. Well, as well as any of us are going to get to know them anyway." "And," Starbuck added, "We might succeed in doing it. Lister strikes me as a pretty sharp guy. So's Kryten. We'll just have to be on our toes, though. And with this threat over our heads..." Adama _knew_ the two of them would pull through. He refrained from smiling. "Fine. You two manage to get us out of this mess and I'll _consider_ keeping the two of you together as wingmen. If you don't..." "...We won't be around to worry about it," Starbuck finished for him. Lister felt like he was under a microscope. Apollo and Starbuck stood at the back of the room, looking for all the world like whipped dogs. Frankly, he was shocked either one of them were still alive. He had heard Adama's voice through the door while he and his mates waited in the hall under very heavy guard. He couldn't make out the words, but the volume was impressive. He became even more impressed when he saw how thick the outer door was. Adama, for his part, fixed those brown eyes on Lister's forehead and glared. The rest of the Boyz were bunched together behind him. After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, the commander finally spoke. "Capt. Apollo and Lt. Starbuck tell me that you might be able to get the computer to release our controls." "Maybe." "How?" "It involves a toaster. Sir." "A _what_?" "Lister! Are you out of your mind? How is that insane breakfast appliance going to help?" Rimmer asked. "Rimmer..." Lister warned. The hologram wasn't listening. "What is it going to do? Make tea cakes and crumpets for everyone while we wait for those Cylon thingies to turn us into toast?" Rimmer immediately started imitating Talkie Toaster. "How-doodly-doodly-do! I can fulfill all your bread product needs. Flapjacks? Waffles? I can do it all while singing a tune about birdies in the trees and the sun on the horizon. I toast, therefore I am." "Rimmer! Stop it!" Lister was always unnerved by how _good_ the smeghead was at imitation. There were times when he almost admired the talent. It was just about the _only_ thing he admired about Rimmer. "Wait a minute!" Starbuck interrupted. "You're telling me that a _kitchen_ appliance is gonna save our hides?" When Adama fixed that glare on the lieutenant, Starbuck hastily made himself _very_ small. Adama returned his glare to Lister. "Is this true? Are you _actually_ planning to solve our problem by using a talking appliance?" Lister cleared his throat. "Well, , yes. Actually." "I see." Adama's voice dropped two octaves. Considering how deep Adama's voice was to begin with, Lister thought this was an extraordinary feat. "I don't!" Cat declared. "That Toaster is nuts with a capital 'N.' It's nuttier than Holly and it's probably crazier than this Hal. It's drives us crazy!" "Exactly." Lister was so proud. The Boyz were catching on. "Exactly? Lister, what _are_ you gibbering on about?" Rimmer's forehead creased around the 'H' on his forehead in that was that was getting sickeningly familiar. "Look, don't you get it? The Toaster. That bleeder is freakin' nutso. It drives _us_ 'round the bend, so I figure it's gonna drive ol' Hal up the smegging wall!" Lister was getting excited. His plan, carefully constructed while he stood on the bridge during the raging battle with the Cylons and in the hall outside of Adama's quarters, took full form. He just _knew_ it would work. "What? And how do you figure that HabiTrail Poster Boy?" Cat asked. "It took that smeggin' Toaster a year to get on our pecs. A whole _year_ before that nasty accident involving me and that waste disposal unit and a fourteen-pound lump hammer. It took Talkie exactly two minutes to drive Kryten off the deep end the first time he fixed 'im!" "So?" Rimmer asked. "Kryten still fixed it. Again." Kryten began his protest. He was going to tell Rimmer that he was working on an electronic performance piece for Lister's birthday party, but he got no further than, "Sir, I was merely..." "That doesn't matter!" Lister interrupted. "The fact is, we got it, let's use it!" "How?" Rimmer asked. Lister's smile took on that demonic grin that had gotten so sickeningly familiar. "Wait and see." A great closing line. But Starbuck just _had_ to get in the last word. "That's what I was afraid of." He looked at Apollo. "You know something? He gets the _exact_ same look in his eyes that you do when you're trying to get us killed." In Which Hal Learns the Meaning of Life...NOT! If you'd asked him earlier that day, Starbuck would've sworn that _nothing_ in the universe would've gotten him back on board the Red Dwarf, especially not if it would involve riding in Starbug with the Boyz. Now he stood in the landing bay of that selfsame ship, wondering if he could make a break for his viper and flee back to the Galactica. After all, the only reason he came back in the first place was to retrieve his ship. At least, that was the excuse Apollo used to real him into making the return trip. Okay, maybe the viper wasn't the only reason. He had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity as to how Lister planned to "fix" the Galactica's computer using a self-aware kitchen appliance apparently designed to heat up bread products. "So, are you going to let us in on the details of your plan, Lister?" Apollo asked as he strode over to the Boyz from where he landed his viper. "Let's get up to the drive room. I'll fill you in on the plan as we go. C'mon." Lister said as he lead his crewmates out of the hanger. Apollo followed eagerly. Starbuck took a long, wistful look at his viper, shook his head and thought, *I'm probably going to regret this,* and walked out of the landing bay after everyone. He made sure he kept a wide berth between himself and the walls, the equipment and everything strewn in the corridor. If it had been humanly possible, he would've avoided walking on the floor. Meanwhile, Lister had begun to outline his plan to Apollo. "It's simple really. 'Member how Hal mentioned something about searching for the meaning of his existence and all that philosophical crap? Well, it reminded me about how the Toaster used to complain about not being able to fulfill its purpose in life because I didn't feel the urge to eat somethin' life 500 rounds of toast every hour. That Toaster is a prime example of why some machines should never, _ever_ be given vocal circuits. I figure Hal should get a taste of some truly annoyin' thoughts about the overwhelmin' importance of grilled grain products. I guarantee, after thirty seconds of being hooked up to the Toaster, your computer will scream for mercy and beg to go back doin' whatever it was doin' before." "This Toaster thing of yours is _that_ annoying?" Apollo asked. "You've _no_ idea," replied Lister. "I better go get the l'il bleeder. I'll meet you in the drive room." He turned down a side corridor as the group continued down the hall. When the five men reached the drive room, Rimmer tried to address the ship's computer. "Holly?" "Holly?" "HOLLY!" Holly's face appeared on the vid screen on the wall in front of Rimmer. "'Ello. Today's special is chicken Vindaloo. Will you please enter the name of the party you wish to reach, and the salesclerk will be with you in a mo'." "Holly, what kind of gibberish are you spouting this time?" Rimmer asked in an annoyed voice. "Sir, I believe it will be quite impossible to communicate with Holly until her connection with Hal is broken. Until then, she'll continue to speak gibberish," Kryten said. "How can you tell? She always talks nonsense," Cat said. "And where is Squirrel Cheeks? This is seriously cutting into my naptime. I haven't had a snooze in over four hours. If this keeps up, I could get backs under my eyes." Just then, Lister appeared carrying something wrapped in a filthy piece of material. Apollo suspected that it was a shirt. He came to that conclusion after taking once glance at the rest of what Lister was wearing. He had changed out of the blue jumpsuit given to him after the Galactica's decon crew had burned his clothes. That set had apparently been his good set, if what he was wearing was any indication of the rest of his wardrobe. Apollo was also developing a theory that the attractive force between Lister and dirt was stronger than the magnetic pull of a black hole. It'd take Lister only a few centons from looking vaguely like a human being to looking like, well, a Lister. Since Caprica didn't have open sewers, Apollo was unable to come up with a truly appropriate analogy. "Is that the Toaster?" Starbuck asked, pointing at the bundle in Lister's arms. "Yep. That's 'im. Now, before I unwrap it, let me warn you -- no matter what it asks, no matter how many times it asks it, say 'no.' Don't hesitate. Don't encourage it. Just say 'no.' Not that it really makes a bit of difference to the smeggin' thing. It'll just keep asking you until you go completely spare." Lister looked down at the bundle, obviously reluctant to unveil its contents. He took a deep breath and addressed the Toaster. "Okay, I'm gonna unwrap you now. Before I do, let me inform you that NO ONE 'ERE WANTS ANY TOAST! Or bagels. No crumpets, waffles, croissants, tarts, muffins, croutons, tea cakes, hot cross buns or anythin' even remotely bread-related. Do you understand?" "Mmmfffmmm," answered the bundle. "Okay. I'm taking off the shirt." With t