Chapter Text
Ace looked at the device in his hand, turning it over to inspect it from every angle. “Nice little gizmo. What’s it do?”
“It’s a dimension skipper, Ace,” Wildfire replied.
“Skipper?!” Ace grinned fondly at the memory of one particular Dave Lister. “So what’s the difference between this and plain old dimension jumping?”
“It’s more dangerous. When you use it, it takes you straight to another dimension. Just you, not the ship. You’ll know nothing about the situation you’re arriving in before you get there.”
Ace whistled. “So I could drop in on people on the khazi? Or doing the horizontal mambo?”
“Exactly. It’s a test of your wits and reflexes. No specific mission apart from that.”
“You know I love a challenge, old girl, but just one thing - what if it drops me into deep space without oxygen? Be a damn silly way to die for nothing.”
“Don’t worry, it’s calibrated for breathable atmospheres only. It’s also programmed to return you to Wildfire after a certain number of skips. Just press that button each time you need to switch dimensions.”
Ace relaxed as he took in his new surroundings. One of those twentieth-century pubs that had been popular on Earth back then. No obvious danger.
He smiled as he recognised the rock singer on a tiny stage, giving it his all despite the disinterested punters. “Om … om…”
He’d met plenty of youthful Dave Listers in his time but this was the youngest yet, a teenager in sparkly blue and purple with a glittery afro, a tambourine and bags of enthusiasm. Adorable.
“The Heads’ll see you later!!!” Lister made a dramatic exit from the stage, only somewhat spoiled by the fact he had nowhere to really go and had to wind his way through the tables. He caught sight of Ace and stared. Openly.
Ace held out a hand in greeting. “Is your name Dave Lister by any chance?”
Lister took it automatically, looking bewildered but friendly. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you … Arnold Rimmer?”
“Yes and no, old chum. I prefer Ace these days.”
“Ace it is then.” Lister looked Ace up and down with growing interest. “This is totally shady. Two of you.”
“Two?” Ace turned round and saw a younger version of himself with firmly Brylcreemed hair, clad in tweed from head to toe and glaring at him over the two drinks he was carrying.
“Look Arn, isn’t this cool?” This Lister was looking at Ace in that unmistakable way which Ace was extremely familiar with. Whoops.
“Who are you?” this younger Rimmer asked Ace with blatant hostility as he looked between the two of them.
“Sorry fellas, didn’t mean to play gooseberry. I’ll leave you to it.”
Ace materialised in a richly decorated sitting room, but had no time to admire it. Two men resembling a Lister and a Rimmer were having a heated argument.
His own doppelganger - all unruly white-blond curls and long legs in tattered tight denim - was sprawled in a stylish armchair, eyes fixed upon the man leaning over him with his back to Ace. Ace would recognise that sturdily compact back view anywhere. Except it felt wrong somehow.
The man who was apparently Dave Lister - despite sporting sleek straightened hair which Ace had never seen on any version of his beloved Scouser before and wearing a suit which probably cost more than Spanners’ annual salary - berated the scruffy seated man. “How could you be so moronic?!”
“Ah c’mon, Seb,” Ace’s double slurred, having clearly had a few. “Your lot’ll cover it up like always.”
Ace flinched as Seb slapped the drunk’s face. He tensed, readying himself to intervene if necessary, but his doppelganger barely reacted beyond putting a hand to his cheek. His mouth curved into a faint smile.
“Well, isn’t someone cocky,” the faux-Lister snapped. “What makes you think I haven’t had enough of clearing up your mess, Billy? I can and should have you killed.”
Ace’s eyes widened in shock, both at the threat and at the person who was making it, but to his amazement Billy simply laughed. “Try a new one, Seb. That stopped being scary years ago.”
Seb’s shoulders stiffened and then seemed to deflate. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
“No, I don’t. You’re the fucking Voter Colonel, what are you so worried about? You can basically do whatever you like, remember?” A pregnant pause ensued before he added bitterly: “Apart from me for some reason.”
Seb exhaled. “You know the fucking reason, Billy.”
“Yeah, but I don’t care anymore. You want me to drink myself to death, is that it? Save you the trouble?”
They held each other’s intense gazes. Billy’s challenging expression turned to a pleading one. He extended a hand in invitation. “Everything you’ve done, Seb. Everything you are. Why am I the one thing that scares you? Your pathetic lush of a half-brother?”
Ace froze in disbelief as the full meaning of his words sank in. What kind of hellish dimension was this?
Seb’s anger visibly drained out of him as he tentatively took Billy’s offered hand. Ace watched him abruptly sink down onto his brother’s jeans-clad lap.
“Isn’t that better?” Billy whispered.
Seconds later, their lips crashed together. They started to claw at each other with the sheer desperation of years and years of choked-back desire.
Shaking and faintly nauseous, Ace punched the button and thankfully vanished.
Fortunately the next dimension turned out to be a fully crewed version of Red Dwarf, affording him a bit of time to pull himself together. Get a grip, man.
“Sir?” A Dave Lister sporting an impressive moustache and a strong upper-crust accent which felt intrinsically wrong to Ace was staring at him in confusion, clearly taking him for this universe’s Rimmer.
“Good day, old chum. Commander Arnold Rimmer. Friends call me Ace.”
This Lister frowned and leaned closer. “Sir, I thought we agreed to keep this sort of thing private?”
Ace hesitated, wondering whether the vibes he was getting were on point, before Lister removed all doubt by shooting a surreptitious glance at his groin, then another to check they were still alone in the corridor.
“I’d love to play with the squirrel, but you know how busy we both are right now. Is this really the time for roleplay?”
Before Ace could think how to answer, a new voice cut in. “And what is going on here exactly?”
The speaker was Arnold Rimmer, clad in a Space Corps uniform with Captain’s pips. The scar on his jaw was on the opposite side of his face to Ace’s. He looked less openly hostile than his tweedy younger counterpart had, but not particularly welcoming.
Lister saluted him. “Sir! Not sure myself, frankly.”
Ace repeated his introduction of himself, adding the reason why he was there.
Captain Rimmer stroked his chin. “Interesting. Why don’t you come and have an espresso with us before you move on?”
Ace readily accepted. It soon became clear, however, that the Captain was less interested in interdimensional travel than making quite sure that this flashy alternate version of him was aware just how successful he was, thank you so very much indeedy. Not only was he the Captain of Red Dwarf, he was also in possession of an extremely large “squirrel”.
First Officer Lister watched the back and forth with interest, looking as though he was trying to work up the nerve to broach a certain topic. Ace could guess what it was. It happened more often than not when he met Listers and Rimmers together. He’d indulged on more than one occasion, but only when both were clearly up for it.
Although this universe was relatively normal compared to the last one - he shuddered internally - there was something off about it, and not just meeting another successful version of himself. Good for him on that score, but Ace didn’t feel inclined to stroke his ego any further.
After a polite interval, he made his excuses and pressed the skipper button.
He immediately cursed himself for letting his guard down.