RD Fic: "Therapy" - 4/9
Aug. 5th, 2011 07:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_rich(Continuation of a Red Dwarf fic - description, disclaimer, and the beginning is back here.
Read on ....
Rimmer was in the middle of explaining for the third time about Lister’s callous cluelessness, about how he’d had the temerity to question Rimmer’s bravery and then just … thank him, without anything beyond that.
“What should Mr. David have done to better express gratitude proper to your expectation?” Troi-7 prodded for the seventh time.
“I don’t know,” Rimmer muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “He could just be less of a git,” he added, impotently.
“From what I have observed, it is this being a git, as you have defined it to me, that endears him to you.”
Rimmer shook his head. “There’s not any endearing going on anywhere. I don’t love the little bastard, if that’s where you’re going again.”
The red light blinked more rapidly, slowed, sped up – and then stopped blinking altogether. Rimmer waited a moment and when nothing happened, he spoke to what was left of the mech’s ball-shaped head. “Are you there?” Nothing. “Hello? Hey! Are you still functioning, you stupid metal twonk?” Nothing. “Stop smegging ignoring me, damn you!”
Nothing.
Now Rimmer felt the rise of panic, a familiar emotion linked forever with his childhood and failed career advancement prospects. “Troi Seven?” he asked instead, modulating his voice. “Are you conscious? Operating? Awake? Whatever?” He came out of his seat, the panic approaching failed-drive-plate-repair mode, and picked up the surprisingly light piece of electronics. “You bloody batty brain-bot, what the hell are you doing?”
The spherical thing gave no indication it was any more active than a dodgeball. Rimmer shook it, shook until he heard faint rattling, and immediately thrust it back at the cushioned chair. He clapped a hand to his mouth and tried not to bite his fingers. “What’ve I done?” he fairly wailed. A sudden idea sent him racing from the spare quarters; there had to be a way to fix this!
Fifteen minutes later he was dragging Lister into the room, fingers clenched around the cuff of his smeggy jacket. The shorter man hadn’t gotten much more out of him than a garbled imperative to “smegging well smegging put that down and come HERE!” and a pull that yanked him stumbling much of the way behind the hologram. He released Lister’s cuff and pointed accusingly at the Series 6000. “It stopped working!” he barked. “And no, I didn’t do it.”
“What? I didn’t say- What’s even wrong with it?” Lister squinted at the metallic black ball. “Rimmer, calm down! You’re going to have to slow down and tell me what happened, okay?”
“It stopped working,” Rimmer repeated. “I was talking to it, and it bloody well stopped blinking and talking, and listening.” He reached over and knocked on the top of it with a tightly-clenched fist. “Are you still listening?” he demanded of it. Not giving it a chance to respond, he stepped back and turned to Lister, arms crossed. “See?”
The Scouser sighed and carefully picked up the sphere, turning it in his hands. “Well?” Rimmer demanded.
“If you don’t step off barking at me, I can’t concentrate,” Lister muttered, looking it over. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m not a robotics expert, Rimmer. I don’t know what I’m looking for, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him. We should probably ask Kryten, or Kris about this.”
“You got Kryten back online. We don’t need Officer Perfect on this,” Rimmer countered. “Maybe Kryten, if you have to look at something.”
Lister eyed him sidelong, too closely. “What’ve you got against Kochanski?” he asked. “She’s the one who got Kryten functional in her universe. Took her less time than it did me.”
“Aren’t she and Kryten working on calculations to get her back home?” he asked, congratulating himself on remembering this piece of conversational datum. It was bad enough he’d had to seek Lister’s help, but he really didn’t want her getting into Troi-7’s database; who knew how the bot recorded and stored their sessions? “Wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”
“I doubt this’d take her too long. ‘Sides, she’s not doing it constantly anymore.” Lister shrugged, looking the bot over again. “I’ll take it to Kryten’s workshop where there’s tools, see if I can open it up. But it looks too involved, I’m calling in Kris.”
On to part 5
Read on ....
Rimmer was in the middle of explaining for the third time about Lister’s callous cluelessness, about how he’d had the temerity to question Rimmer’s bravery and then just … thank him, without anything beyond that.
“What should Mr. David have done to better express gratitude proper to your expectation?” Troi-7 prodded for the seventh time.
“I don’t know,” Rimmer muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “He could just be less of a git,” he added, impotently.
“From what I have observed, it is this being a git, as you have defined it to me, that endears him to you.”
Rimmer shook his head. “There’s not any endearing going on anywhere. I don’t love the little bastard, if that’s where you’re going again.”
The red light blinked more rapidly, slowed, sped up – and then stopped blinking altogether. Rimmer waited a moment and when nothing happened, he spoke to what was left of the mech’s ball-shaped head. “Are you there?” Nothing. “Hello? Hey! Are you still functioning, you stupid metal twonk?” Nothing. “Stop smegging ignoring me, damn you!”
Nothing.
Now Rimmer felt the rise of panic, a familiar emotion linked forever with his childhood and failed career advancement prospects. “Troi Seven?” he asked instead, modulating his voice. “Are you conscious? Operating? Awake? Whatever?” He came out of his seat, the panic approaching failed-drive-plate-repair mode, and picked up the surprisingly light piece of electronics. “You bloody batty brain-bot, what the hell are you doing?”
The spherical thing gave no indication it was any more active than a dodgeball. Rimmer shook it, shook until he heard faint rattling, and immediately thrust it back at the cushioned chair. He clapped a hand to his mouth and tried not to bite his fingers. “What’ve I done?” he fairly wailed. A sudden idea sent him racing from the spare quarters; there had to be a way to fix this!
Fifteen minutes later he was dragging Lister into the room, fingers clenched around the cuff of his smeggy jacket. The shorter man hadn’t gotten much more out of him than a garbled imperative to “smegging well smegging put that down and come HERE!” and a pull that yanked him stumbling much of the way behind the hologram. He released Lister’s cuff and pointed accusingly at the Series 6000. “It stopped working!” he barked. “And no, I didn’t do it.”
“What? I didn’t say- What’s even wrong with it?” Lister squinted at the metallic black ball. “Rimmer, calm down! You’re going to have to slow down and tell me what happened, okay?”
“It stopped working,” Rimmer repeated. “I was talking to it, and it bloody well stopped blinking and talking, and listening.” He reached over and knocked on the top of it with a tightly-clenched fist. “Are you still listening?” he demanded of it. Not giving it a chance to respond, he stepped back and turned to Lister, arms crossed. “See?”
The Scouser sighed and carefully picked up the sphere, turning it in his hands. “Well?” Rimmer demanded.
“If you don’t step off barking at me, I can’t concentrate,” Lister muttered, looking it over. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m not a robotics expert, Rimmer. I don’t know what I’m looking for, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him. We should probably ask Kryten, or Kris about this.”
“You got Kryten back online. We don’t need Officer Perfect on this,” Rimmer countered. “Maybe Kryten, if you have to look at something.”
Lister eyed him sidelong, too closely. “What’ve you got against Kochanski?” he asked. “She’s the one who got Kryten functional in her universe. Took her less time than it did me.”
“Aren’t she and Kryten working on calculations to get her back home?” he asked, congratulating himself on remembering this piece of conversational datum. It was bad enough he’d had to seek Lister’s help, but he really didn’t want her getting into Troi-7’s database; who knew how the bot recorded and stored their sessions? “Wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”
“I doubt this’d take her too long. ‘Sides, she’s not doing it constantly anymore.” Lister shrugged, looking the bot over again. “I’ll take it to Kryten’s workshop where there’s tools, see if I can open it up. But it looks too involved, I’m calling in Kris.”
On to part 5
