Marty walked over to Marty and tapped him on the shoulder, "’Ere mate - what you doing? Why are you pretending to be me?"

"Excuse me? I’m not pretending to be you. Why are you pretending to be me?"

The two stood there, staring out the other. Jeff walked over to Jeff, "Ignore him mate - can’t take him anywhere. Do you have the same problems with him that I have with Marty? My Marty I mean."

The darker haired Jeff Randall, wearing early 1970s gear, nodded, "I expect so - I can’t get rid of him. He’s there interfering in everything I do."

"Trying to solve a case..."

"Trying to chat up a girl..."

"When I’m naked, trying to have shower..." the shorter Jeff tutted wistfully. The older darker Jeff raised his eyebrows.

"Excuse me, "he said, "I think I’m needed over there." With that he left Jeff to go and talk to that attractive tall woman with the tight clothes.

*******************

Three million years alone on that planet had turned Mumford a bit doolally. First of all he’d taken to calling himself Ted for no reason. "I’m Fred," he kept telling himself. But Ted sounded better somehow.

And now after all that enforced loneliness he was surrounded by people. And not just people-people. Ghosts. And other things that were a bit like ghosts but not.

He sighed. If only Timothy Claypole were here.

The last time he’d seen him was just before Christmas 1978. After that - nothing. The jester had become fascinated by a pantomime horse. And Fred could cope with some things, but that was just beyond the pale.

Two men in a funny costume with one’s head up the other’s behind. No. There were some things that just shouldn’t be.

********************

Tuvok had taken over at the transporter after Seven had taken her leave. Naomi Wildman insisted on helping.

Still they were coming. After two hours the traffic started to slow. The last two sets of arrivals were a dark-haired little girl and her dad, with a strange rounded entity calling itself ‘Casper’, and a well-built cynical-looking man in a big coat holding the hand of a wide-eyed boy who kept insisting he could see ‘dead people’.

Naomi was extremely excited to have three new playmates. "Can I keep them huh?" She asked Tuvok.

The Vulcan said nothing for a second, then. "Ms Wildman, you can not ‘keep’ them - but if you ask them, perhaps they could be persuaded to become your companions for as long as they stay here."

Naomi jumped up and down, clapping her hand, "Real children, real children." Well apart from that Casper boy. It seemed the flow had stopped. Tuvok left the transporter room. If any one else arrived Ensign Carter could deal with it.

********************************

"Gadzooks! How did we get here?" Timothy Claypole was jumping about manically. Last thing he remembered he was trying to persuade Master Meaker that putting on a Christmas play WAS a good idea.

A moustachioed man with a porkpie hat turned around slowly, "You stupid Jester - you’ve done it again! Where’s Ethel? Ethel my love?" he called down the corridor. But there was no reply. They seemed to be in a deserted warehouse. Deserted apart from huge vats of industrial strength curry paste.

"You see - you see how it is now that you’ve driven Mumford away!" Claypole wailed.

"How is this my fault?" Harold Meaker asked, his voice like a road that’s just been tarred.

"Rentaghost was Ted Mumford’s ,"

"Fred!" Meaker reminded the jester.

"Fred Mumford’s, " Claypole continued, barely pausing. "And you and you witch of a wife had to come in and ruin it for him."

"You ghosts would be nothing without me!" Harold growled, "and Ethel never wanted anything to do with any of you."

"And poor Mr Davenport? What became of him?"

"Oh I don’t know. Stop asking stupid questions," Harold was losing patience. "Can’t you just pop us out of here?"

"I didn’t pop us in!"

******************

"Sam, that guy over there is staring at me. Do you think everyone can see me?" Al chewed on his cigar nervously. Oral stimulation was always a comfort in a crisis.

"Al, I can safely say, ‘they can see you’," Sam grinned.

"You can touch things as well if you’d care to," Seven said.

Al giggled, "is that an invitation Miss? ‘Cos I warn you I’ve got a reputation for being very good with my hands!"

"Al!" Sam warned.

"If you try anything I will personally see to it that both your arms are broken in 17 places. Hologram or no hologram. Good day," With that Seven walked away

"Touchy broad, " Al smiled, "What’s with all the metal you think?"

"Al. You’re embarrassing me, " Sam said sotto voiced.

"What I’m just having a little fun. Can’t a guy have some fun now and again."

"I think Verbena Beaks was right about you!" Sam said.

"Right about what?"

Sam left it hanging.

*****************************************

"Listy. I can touch. Isn’t it marvellous. I’ve got a body. A real body!" Rimmer was walking around the bar touching everything and everyone.

"Calm down Rimmer - you have not got a real body. It’s all an illusion," Lister didn’t want Rimmer to get his hopes up. It was heart breaking every time they were dashed..

"Mr Rimmer sir, Almost 55 per cent of the people in this room are not technically solid. You are in the majority here," Kryten tried to engage his enthusiasm chip for Rimmer, but it wasn’t easy. The man was was such a smee...hee.

"You see Listy - It’s like a dream come true - us deadies outnumber you livies," Rimmer smiled smugly.

"Rimmer - you are such a, such a," No it had to be said, "Such a smeghead."

"Ah terms of endearment Lister, terms of endearment," Rimmer grinned and walked over to talk to some of his fellow deadies.

After going off duty, Seven of Nine had come to the holodeck, ostensibly to study the collected assortment of non-corporeal beings at close range (the Borg Collective's experience with beings such as this was limited, and she was always eager to expand her knowledge). However, soon after her arrival she had been cornered by Arnold Rimmer. He had many questions about the holographic technology possessed by Voyager, particularly the ship's Doctor...mainly, how it was that he could touch and be touched, even though he was a hologram. Seven knew what all the questions were leading up to; still, she found herself enjoying the discussion, mainly because Rimmer (unlike the rest of his shipmates) seemed more interested in her mind and the information in it than her body...

"So what you're saying is that I feel solid in here because of Voyager's holographic projectors, but if I went outside I wouldn't be?" he asked, some time into the conversation.

"That is correct. Once you step outside the holodeck, the small electronic device within your three-dimensional image would be the source of your projection, rather than this room's holo-emitters -- unlike your vessel, in which all areas are covered by a holographic projection system, here holograms can only be generated in limited areas because of the energy requirements needed for a 'solid' projection."

His face fell. "So the Red Dwarf's systems couldn't be modified to do the same thing as yours."

"They would not have sufficient power," she replied. "However...our ship's Doctor possesses a mobile holographic emitter, which grants him access to areas outside the holodecks and sickbay. It contains its own energy source and is able to project him in a way that, as you would put it, makes him feel solid." She watched Rimmer's expression as she considered the engineering behind the emitter's design. "An exact duplicate of the mobile emitter would be difficult to construct, as it is a product of future technology. However, the small electronic device within your projected image -- your 'light bee' -- could be modified to serve a similar function, since it is an actual physical object." She looked him up and down. "May I scan you?"

"Scan me? Of course," he replied eagerly. "Go ahead, scan away."

Seven produced a tricorder and aimed it at him, raising an eyebrow at the readings. "This technology is considerably more advanced than that of the rest of your vessel."

"Well, the light bee hadn't been invented in the time Lister and I came from, but it had been by Kryten's time. The technology came from the ship he was on."

"I see." She finished her scan. "I believe this is all the information I need. I will confer with Ensign Kim regarding the design of this new emitter. This will be an interesting. project." The corner of her mouth turned up; for her, an almost-smile. "I will keep you informed of our progress."

Rimmer watched her as she walked away, not quite knowing what to say.

"I see dead people."

"Don't you know how to say anything else?"

"I see dead people."

"Yes. Me. Too."

"I see dead people."

"Is he okay, d'you think?"

"I don't know Casper, I think this whole experience overloaded his systems or something."

**************

Rimmer walked back into the room in high spirits.

"Listy! You're not going to believe it, that Sixty-nine or whatever her name was, thinks she might--"

Lister interrupted him. "We've got to go back."

"What?"

"Kryten says Hol's found more strangers on the Dwarf."

"More ghosts with hayfever?"

He watched Lister nod. Oh well, the safety of the ship which was Lister's only way home, was obviously more important than the slim possibility that he might get a real, tangible body. The responsible choice would be to...oh, sod it!

"Let that bimbo of a computer handle them. I'm staying here."

Lister had evidently expected this reaction. He had his 'I'm a nice bloke, trying to do the right thing. Why are you making my life any harder?' face on.

"C'mon, Rimmer. We can come back afterwards. It's only till we sort things out."

Rimmer scowled. Lister was always doing that: being reasonable. Rimmer was sure it was just to annoy him. Lister seemed to think that if he just acted logically and smiled in that gerbil-ish way of his, that he'd always get his own way, Rimmer thought. Honestly, it made *furious*! If it hadn't been for Rimmer's hologramatic status, he would probably have decked his bunkmate long before now...now there was a thought!

Lister wasn't expecting the punch. He'd gotten so used to Rimmer's not being able to touch, that he'd always assumed he was safe from anything but the pettier manifestations of the hologram's wrath.

Despite Lister's being out of shape, there could only be one winner. Pretty soon, he had Rimmer pinned against the wall. He stood there for a second, panting, before asking "Now, are you gonna come or not?"

Rimmer wasn't sure whether it was Lister's hot breath on his face or the thought that his first opportunity to touch things in 3 million years was going to be cut short. Whatever it was, it and not he was responsible for his reply of "With any luck," and the indecent haste with which he shut himself in the nearby janitor's closet, pulling Lister in with him.

... The feel of an another person, even that of the holo sod like his had him up and making a tent in his blooming uniform. As tempted as he was to tell him to sod off, This was far too good, far too needed.

Hard Male flesh pined him to the Metal wall, Hot solid lips, Moist demanding and real pressed agents his, demanding surender, promising more.

It took his breath away. He had to admit to him self that his right had had been dam poor company for the last little bit, and the moldy old porn tapes had been used so much that you could hardly see what or who was doing what to who..

And this was real. Over whelmingly real. He ground his tent like object against the hard thigh that had rudely parted and pined his legs. His hands were held and pined, next to his head. But that was not what was making him helpless.

Heat. Breathing. perspiring, Moaning. Real. He might have been the Bleeding ass of all time, and the last person that he would have choosing to be doing the shags with, but it was not like he was hip deep in choices now was he?

And it had been so long. He wished that he had a beer or two, just to set the mood, and that he could use to blame it on later.

But he knew. He wanted this. As much as he did. A celebration of what was good and right and real.

And he so wanted to get his Rocks Jolly off. A man could a only go so far, and as far as he was concerned, he had gone quite far enough.

He open his mouth to the demanding tongue, and surrendered himself to the inevitable.

"What the hell was that?"

"Well, if you need me to tell you, you're not quite the space stud that you claim to be," said Rimmer smugly.

Lister grabbed Rimmer's shoulders…his very nicely shaped bare shoulders… and shook the dead man with all of his might.

"What. The. HELL Was. THAT???", he screamed.

******

Sam Beckett wearily made his way back to the Holodeck. When the Captain found out just who he was, he had been summoned to a headache -inducing session where theories were discussed, charts displayed, facts pondered and coffee served.

But three hours later they had nothing. Zero. Zilch. De Nada, as Al would say.

Captain Janeway did make very good coffee though.

The disheartening thing was, he knew that they would be disappointed. He had tried to explain the Swiss-Cheese Effect, the gaping holes in his knowledge. He was no longer Samuel John Beckett, Noble Prizewinner and super-genius. Now he was just Sam Beckett, wanderer.

And they all nodded with false understanding.

All of them; Janeway, Tuvok, Seven of Nine. Then he saw their disappointment when he couldn't come up with something brilliant to explain why the Voyager was being undulated with entities corporal and non-corporal.

So, three hours later he was back at the Holodeck, feeling shamed. Ticked off and shamed. It had been eight hours since he found himself in the bowels of the mining ship Red Dwarf and he was also bone-tired. Ticked off and shamed and tired and he needed to talk to Al.

"Where has Al gotten to?" Sam murmured aloud.

"I believe the Admiral was playing pool with Mr.Lister, Dr. Beckett," said a polite voice behind him.

"Oh, right, thanks Kryten."

That's right. Three hours ago, before going with his escort he had turned at Al's cough to see two almost identical pairs of mischievous dark eyes looking up at him.

"Go to your little powwow, Sam," Al said, pool cue on his shoulder. "I'm gonna teach Davey here how to play pool."

"G'off," grinned Lister. "I'll have you know that I've played pool with planets!"

"Yeah, well, I've played with 'Black Magic' Waters, kid. What kinda nickname is 'Planets', anyway?"

And they wandered over to the pool table at the far edges of the room, boasting and chattering, the Scouse accent mixing with the Brooklyn. The table where Al was now knocking the balls around. Alone.

"I wonder where Mr.Lister is, " said Kryten.

******

"What was THAT, grabbing me and…and havin' your way with me?"

"Oh, like you didn't enjoy it," huffed Rimmer.

"That's…well…ahh…LOOK, that's not the smegging bloody fucking smegging point!" Lister waved his arms around was well as he could in the confines of the closet. "The point is you don't go around snogging your best mate!"

Rimmer's face went suddenly still and his light brown eyes went wide.

"I'm…. Listy, I'm your…mate?"

Lister groaned and banged his fortunately well-padded dreadlocked head against the steel door.

******

As usual, Al's bright clothes made him stand out in any crowd, and Sam easily wound his way towards the pool table and the neon Hawaiian shirt.

"Hiya, kid. Any luck? 2 ball banked off the left." Al said, making the shot.

"Not really. Maybe if we start fresh again tomorrow."

"Yeah, sounds good. 4 and 7, right corner pocket."

Sam watched his compact partner make his shot's expertly, but half-heartedly. Al was troubled about something… Sam didn't live through Leaping though time for 6+ years without learning to read his only constant companion like a book. If he wasn't ticked and tired and… worried about his friend, Sam would have just let Al be. But he had a hunch, several in fact, and if he was right they both had a lot to be troubled about.

"So, where's Lister?"

"Aw, we played a couple a games, then that nozzle Rimmer dragged him off somewhere. Nice kid, Lister. Drinks more than he should though. He oughta watch that," said the voice of experience.

"Al, I know why you're way over here, instead of over in the party," Sam gestured over to the center of the room, where the other "guests" had formed a conga line.

"Listen, I'm sure they are all very nice, but half of them are DEAD, Sam!" Al shuddered. "You know I don't LIKE hinky things."

"Then why are you still here? Why haven't gone back through the Imaging Chamber door?" Sam sighed and rubbed his long fingers over his dark eyebrows. It didn't help the pounding in his head. "Al, you've lost contact with Ziggy and the Project, haven't you."

"Aum…yeah…"

"And you can't go back to your own time, can you?"

"Errrr….no…."

"So you're stuck here, aren't you?"

"Ummm….maybe…."

"Damnit, Al! When were you going to tell me?"

"Well, I kept hoping it was a temporary block." He pulled the dead handlink from his pants pocket and slapped it sadly. It emitted not a chirp or squeak. "I didn't want to worry you. There's nothing you could do,anyway..."

"Excuse me, Admiral Calavicci," said a frantic looking Kryten, waddling over to them. "Have you seen Mr Lister? He was with you last. I've been quite worried, I don't see him anywhere…"

"Yeah, I might have," Al said, taking out a fresh cigar and starting the soothing ritual of trimming and lighting. " It's really not my place to say exactly… why… but try the janitor's closet over there."

"Really? Mr.Lister had never shown an interest in cleaning before…"

"'Cleaning', huh? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?"

"AL!" Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the Holodeck doors. "Come on, we have to talk."

Kryten walked to the Janitor's closet. Unlikely, but it was worth a try…

******

Lister looked up into Rimmer's suddenly shy, hopeful eyes. Now that was more like his Rimmer, insecure, nervous Rimmer….

"Well, you were the closest to it, Rimmer…."

"Oh…"

"'Till you shagged me, anyway…."

"Ah…"

"And now …I …don't know…"

This would have been easier to carry off, Lister mused, if Little Davey had not chosen that very moment to come to attention. Hang on….his Rimmer? HIS Rimmer?

"Mmmm…I think you do know," purred Rimmer as he moved closer and slowly glided his long slender fingers up Lister's hardening shaft.

And oh…oh..Dave let him.