Jeff Randall was bored. He wasn't a great one for parties, and this one was no exception. He stayed in a corner with a beer, watching the ghosts, holograms and people wandering around, and wishing he was back in his office with Jeannie sitting at the desk next to him. She made him feel safe and in control; aside from anything else, she had a habit of beating up anyone who bothered him.

He left the Holodeck bar and went into the Holodeck toilet. One of Voyager's crew had explained how the Holodeck worked, and Jeff wasn't too sure that relieving himself inside a hologrammatic illusion was a good idea. What if the Holodeck suddenly went offline, revealing everyone in the midst of doing whatever they were doing? Still, the call of nature was stronger than caution.

A twirl of ectoplasm announced Marty's arrival. "Jeff! Isn't this a great party? I've met this --"

"Fuck off, Marty!"

The ghost glared at him and then seemed to realise where he was. "Oops." He disappeared again.

Jeff went back to the party a couple of minutes later, taking up a place beside the bar. His eyes were automatically drawn to Marty. The ghost was now talking to the woman with the bumpy forehead, showing off as usual, and probably making up preposterous stories even though their true adventures had been pretty exciting in their own right.

Jeff took out the picture of Jeannie that he carried around with him everywhere. Not for the first time that evening, he wished she was here with him.

"Boy, you look depressed," said a tall handsome man who was getting himself a drink. He looked like Harrison Ford, only much younger. "Which one are you -- a ghost or a living person?"

"I'm alive," said Jeff. He'd had this conversation with a few of the other people at the reunion. "My ghost is over there. The tall one with the dark hair."

"Mine is the old man in the brown robes. Well, he isn't my ghost. I'd never seen him before, but he appears to that kid over there. I guess I got scooped up for the ride." The young man glanced at the picture Jeff was holding. "And who is that?"

"The ghost's fiancée. Well, ex-fiancée, I suppose I should say."

"Hmm. Just as well she didn't marry him. Their children wouldn't have had any eyebrows. Right, I have to be off. I'll see you later."

The stranger went off. Jeff stared at the picture of Jeannie and then looked at Marty. He laughed as he realised they really did both have pale eyebrows. Maybe Darwinism had struck and eliminated Marty before eyebrows could disappear from their descendants. That cheered Jeff up a bit.

Marty came to join him. Jeff could tell he was very much the worse for a few hologrammatic beers. He asked himself how the hell Marty could get drunk on fake beer when he didn't even have a digestive system, but then decided that sort of pondering would only give him a headache. He wasn't much of a ponderer, was Jeff.

"What are you doing over here moping?" As he joined Jeff, the ghost noticed the picture. "Moping over my fiancée, what's more. She'll never be interested in a short-arse like you, you know."

Jeff pocketed the photograph and shrugged his shoulders.

"You know what I think," said Marty, leaning on the bar. "I've noticed that sad losers like you often fancy their mates' girlfriends. It's probably some kind of transference thing."

"Transference thing?"

"Yeah. I reckon blokes like you just fancy your mates and can't deal with that, so you sort of fall in love with their girlfriends instead."

"Oh, so it wouldn't have anything to do with Jeannie being beautiful and intelligent?" Jeff turned to Marty and put his hands on his hips. "Wait a minute, are you saying you think I'm attracted to you?"

The ghost didn't seem as bothered by that idea as Jeff had expected. Instead, he helped himself to another pint of beer. "You *were* very upset when I died. Weeping on my grave and everything."

"Yes, well, it was a bit of a shock." Jeff remembered Marty's funeral and shrugged again. "You don't normally expect your friends to get murdered. Especially when you're just getting ready to be best man at their wedding. So I was upset. But that doesn't mean I fancy you."

Marty just looked at him dubiously, with a sly smile on his lips.

"You know, Marty, I think this sounds a bit like wishful thinking," continued Jeff. "You're the one who keeps turning up when I'm naked or in the shower. And you're the one who chose *me* as your Chosen One. I could be reading all sorts of things into that, too."

Jeff looked at Marty with satisfaction, certain that this would put an end to the conversation. It didn't.

"Actually, I've always thought you were cute," said Marty, waving one hand demonstratively. "I rather fancied you when we first met. Then I met Jeannie and things worked out differently. But you're still the first person who came to mind when I had to pick someone to haunt."

Jeff stared at him and tried to think of something to say. Nothing intelligent came to mind. He looked up at Marty in surprise. He was even more surprised at what Marty did next.

Then the ghost sauntered off into the crowd, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened. No one else seemed to have noticed what he had just done. Jeff put his fingers to his lips and stared at the spectre's retreating back.

He could have sworn Marty had just kissed him.

* * * * *

"Ooh, Nobel Prize, eh?" said Marty, leaning on the bar and trying to have a conversation with this fellow Sam Beckett. "I could have won a Nobel Prize too, you know. Probably for literature. You see, I was writing a book when I died, and it would have been a cracking success. I could have been the next Jeffrey Archer, you know. It's a terrible tragedy I died so young."

"Yes..." said Beckett with the dismissive tone of someone who had long since stopped listening to the conversation.

Marty looked around at the crowd. His Jeff was nowhere to be seen, though the other Randall -- evidently a ladies' man -- seemed to be making some progress with the Barbie Doll woman. Marty thought about Jeff and what he had said to him, and how he wished he hadn't said anything now. It was a wind-up, of course: he had only intended to tease Jeff. But it had somehow led him to tell the truth.

And do something that still lingered on his mind. And his lips.

"I really wonder what we're all doing here," said Beckett suddenly. "Seven thinks the planet is responsible, that it somehow attracted both Red Dwarf and Voyager here. There are apparently strange readings from the planet's core, which combined with Voyager's transporter beam somehow delved through history to bring together all these immaterial beings."

This speech was probably destined to help Beckett's mental process rather than impart information to the drunken ghost beside him. But Marty nodded gravely.

"Yeah, it's a very clever planet, bringing all us lot together," said Marty, raising his glass. "And we're really having a good time, too!"

"A clever planet," repeated Beckett thoughtfully.

"There was one in a Space:1999 episode, you know," said Marty brightly. "I used to watch that as a kid. There was this planet with an entity on it, and it tried to communicate with all the people that landed on his world. Only the creature had never met anyone, so it just fried their brains when it talked to them. Then when they didn't answer, it got angry and turned all the resources of the planet against them. Who knows, maybe that planet has some super entity who wanted us lot here?"

Beckett nodded gravely. "You know, you might be on to something."

Marty beamed with pride. He had actually out-thunk a Nobel Prize winner! He just had to tell Jeff.

* * * * *

Fred Mumford was happy. For three million years, he had lived alone on the planet, and how, out of the blue, his dearest wish was answered. He had company, and lots of it.

Not only that, but most of them were also dead. It was a great pleasure to meet such a diverse lot of people in his situation. The little ghost in the cream suit was a detective who helped his partner solve crimes. There was a taller ghost with the same name whose main ambition seemed to be to get drunk. The revived hologram from the other ship was nowhere to be seen, but had earlier hinted at the adventures of the mining ship Red Dwarf.

And best of all, all his old friends were there. Nadia Popov and Harry Meaker and Timothy Claypole and Hazel and just so many people he had remembered during all those years. This was indeed an excellent day.

* * * * *

"You'll never believe what just happened to me," exclaimed Marty when his ghostly instincts honed in on Jeff.

"Hmm."

Annoyed at Jeff's reaction, Marty looked around to make sure his Chosen One wasn't sleeping, or showering, or talking to someone, or sitting on the toilet... any of those annoying living habits that stopped Marty from having Jeff's undivided attention every time he craved it. Although Marty could always tell where Jeff was, he had no way of knowing what his partner was doing until he materialised and had a look around.

In this instance, Jeff was merely sitting on the edge of a bed in what looked like a hotel room. Marty poked the bed covers and was pleased to realise that the room was still in the Holodeck.

He sat on the bed beside Jeff.

"Anyway, there's this guy Sam Beckett downstairs --" He paused and wondered if the bar was indeed downstairs. It made sense based on his knowledge of real hotels, so he continued. "He's a Nobel Prize winner. And he was wondering why we had all ended up here when Voyager's transporter malfunctioned. And I said it might be the planet causing the problem. .. or maybe he said that was something the Voyager crew thought. Anyway, I said the planet might be intelligent, and he said I might be right. See, I out-thought a Nobel Prize winner!"

Marty's announcement wasn't met by any particular reaction from Jeff. In fact, his partner merely lay back on the bed. His normally jocular features were lined with concentration, the frown mark on his high forehead deep and long. It traced a line which seemed to be the continuation of his cleft chin and the dent at the tip of his nose. Symmetrical little fellow.

"Did you hear?" insisted Marty, teleporting himself so that he was now standing at the head of the bed and leaning over Jeff. "The Nobel Prize winner said--"

"Yes, I heard you. I'm just thinking."

"There's a turn up for the books."

Jeff's expression relaxed into a half-hearted smile. Marty realised he wasn't going to get much conversation out of him, so he teleported himself to lie beside Jeff.

"What are you doing moping up here, then?" said Marty. "You're a terrible moper, you know. I can't take you anywhere!"

Jeff didn't answer for a while. Marty was thinking about making some comment, just to populate the silence, but then Jeff suddenly spoke.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier."

"About what?"

"What do you mean, about what? You bloody kissed me, Marty!"

"Oh, that."

Jeff sat up again, turning his back on the ghost. "Yes, that. It was a joke, right?"

"Mmyes," said Marty unconvincingly. His new-found materiality and present drunkenness made him incline to honesty for once. Though the drunkenness seemed to be dissipating rapidly.

Jeff stood up and observed him suspiciously. "So it wasn't a joke?"

"Oh, maybe it was," said Marty with a shrug. "I was just winding you up, there. What does it matter anyway? I'm dead; it doesn't matter what I do..." He noticed that Jeff was now standing by the desk on the opposite wall. "Are you moving away from me or something?"

Jeff pursed his lips and went all shifty-eyed. Marty couldn't help smiling. Jeff was so transparent sometimes. Certainly not a master of sophistication and mystery like himself.

The ghost got off the bed and approached his partner. "It was a joke," he assured him.

"Not a very funny one," said Jeff. "And kissing me was taking things a bit far."

Marty didn't answer. He had just realised that he could actually smell Jeff. Not that there was anything wrong with his partner's hygiene, but there were definitely some odours emanating from him. A faint fragrance of hair lotion, the smell of beer on his breath, the almost imperceptible odour of a clean human body. It was as if all Marty's reawakened senses were suddenly sharper than humanly possible. He wondered if his sense of touch would be similarly affected.

He reached over to touch the material of Jeff's polo-neck jumper. The material was soft and faintly warm. Marty licked his lips and savoured the intoxicating sensation on his fingertips.

"Marty, don't be a bugger," he heard Jeff say.

"Funny you should say that," said Marty with an evil grin.

The ghost suddenly realised how very close he was standing. He remembered his lips touching Jeff's earlier in the bar, and he was seized by an overwhelming desire to kiss his partner again. He'd had vague fantasies about this before, but he had never imagined he would have the opportunity and inclination to act on them.

"You know, Jeff, I never noticed what a gorgeous thick neck you've got..." he said in a husky voice.

"Marty...Marty!"

Jeff backed off, but Marty grabbed him. Throwing all caution to the wind, the ghost gave him another kiss.

"Hmph!" protested Jeff, still trying to get away.

He disengaged himself from Marty's grasp and took a few steps back. Jeff had evidently forgotten that there was a bed in the middle of the room, because he tripped over it and ended up sprawled diagonally on the duvet.

Seizing his chance, Marty pounced on him. He was surprised to find less resistance as he kissed Jeff's face and lips this time. He even managed to get one hand under his partner's sweater to feel the hairy skin of Jeff's stomach. He'd forgotten how warm human beings were, and how exciting that warmth could be. He felt as aroused as he had ever been when hormones controlled his living body.

It wasn't just Jeff's warmth that was intoxicating, though. Marty's fantasies came back to him with full force, and he realised he'd been wanting to do this for a long time. Being forced to spend so much time with Jeff after his death had only made his desires keener.

Marty drew back a little to look at Jeff's face. He wondered if his partner wanted this as much as he did.

Jeff was staring at him intently, seriously at first, and then with a smirk on his thin lips.

"You don't know what to do with me, do you?" he said. His gap-toothed smile widened, creasing his cheeks and drawing deep lines around his eyes.

"No, I'm just considering what part of my extensive lover's arsenal I should use on you," said Marty, offended at the suggestion he didn't know what he was doing.

He tried to kiss Jeff again, but his partner rolled out of his way and Marty ended up with a mouthful of duvet. Jeff chuckled and pulled himself into a more comfortable position on the bed, with his head on a pillow. Marty lay out beside him and wondered what to do.

"Is this all a big joke, or is there something you haven't told me?" said Jeff finally. "I mean, you don't live to the age of thirty-eight, die, and *then* decide that you're gay. Right?"

"Who says I'm gay?" protested Marty automatically. "I said I fancied you, that's all...I think I've shown I fancy you, too."

Jeff frowned. "Does any of this have anything to do with me being your Chosen One?"

Marty sat up, annoyed that his attempt at dissimulation had failed, and even more annoyed that this inane conversation was dampening his arousal.

"All right, so I fancy you and you're the one I wanted to see when I got my chance." He hesitated and then decided he might as well carry on. "I sometimes thought you... well, that maybe you were... interested as well. When I had to choose someone to haunt, I remembered you crying at my funeral and I wanted to tell you...well, this, basically."

"What about Jeannie, where did she fit into all this?" asked Jeff woodenly. He always got a bit wooden when he was serious.

"That's different. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, have children and all that. But after I died, I thought you'd need me more than she did..." Marty shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Jeff. "Oh, sod all this confession stuff. Give's a kiss!"

"Yeah, okay," said Jeff, as if Marty had just suggested having a cup of tea.

"You don't seem very bothered by all this," remarked Marty, a bit irritated by Jeff's nonchalance.

"Well, I always did think you were a bit camp. So it's a surprise, but not that big a surprise. And to be honest, it's been a long time since anyone wanted to go to bed with me."

"Camp?! Me??"

Jeff smiled, his small brown eyes bright with mischief. "Just a bit. You know, dying your hair and stuff. In fact, I'm surprised you became a ghost and not a fairy."

"Right, you...you..."

Marty couldn't think of anything to say, so he seized Jeff's head in both hands and kissed him again. This time, he was rewarded by an embrace. Encouraged, he moved his lips to the short expanse of neck visible above Jeff's collar. "Hmm," was Jeff's reaction, so Marty slid his hand under his sweater again. The ghost knew he probably only had a night at his disposal, but he was determined to take his time. His last opportunity for post-mortem passion hadn't been a great success. He had been pissed out of his brain for one thing...and then the woman in question had turned out to be in league with the Devil. But this time, Marty was acting out a fantasy involving his surprisingly docile partner. He was going to make the most of it.

On the other hand, he was still unsure where to take this. Should he go for Jeff's trousers? Get undressed? Undress Jeff? Get Jeff to undress him? Never mind about the possibilities for what they could do once they were both naked.

Both naked. Marty's mouth felt dry. He already knew enough about the contents of Jeff's trousers to get shivers at the mere thought.

"Hmm. Tell you what..." murmured Jeff after a few moments.

The ghost looked at him expectantly. Jeff's face was slightly flushed, and Marty felt a sudden surge of tenderness for him. He stroked Jeff's left cheek, feeling the mole by his mouth like Braille under his fingertips. The touch made Jeff smile, and for a fleeting moment, he resembled Kevin Spacey. But better looking, of course. To Marty anyway. The ghost reflected that he'd never noticed before how curly Jeff's eyelashes were.

"If you're not sure what to do next, Marty, I must say a blow job would be really nice."

Marty rolled his eyes and sighed. "And they say romance is dead."

* * * * *

"Seven."

The former Borg looked up from the console she was showing to the 1969 Jeff Randall. The Doctor had just entered the Astrometrics Lab.

"I thought I should inform you that I'm getting some reports of...unusual behaviour among our non-living guests," he said as he approached.

"What kind of behaviour?" asked Seven.

"Amorous behaviour." The Doctor was trying to act professionally, but he also seemed embarrassed. "I'm...feeling the effects myself. It might be better if Mister Paris took over in Sickbay."

Seven glanced at Jeff Randall, and then both of them stared at his partner the ghost. The 1969 Marty Hopkirk swallowed nervously and his blue eyes grew even bigger.

"That...isn't something gentlemen discuss in front of a lady," he stammered. Evidently flustered, he smoothed his Beatles wig and started to whistle.

"All right, you don't know anything about it," said Randall with a long-suffering sigh, "but do spare us the whistling!"

Seven turned her attention back to the Doctor. "Are you saying that the ghosts and holograms are displaying unusual sexual behaviour?"

"Well, it hasn't quite turned into an orgy, but I have been getting some strange reports," said the Doctor. "And as I said, I can definitely vouch for the fact that there is something happening. I thought you might want to find out the source, and, um, perhaps see about countering the effects... After all, things could get embarrassing."

Seven glanced at the ghost Hopkirk, who was staring at her chest. "Yes, so I gather."

* * * * *

Jeff let out a long breath and opened his eyes. 'I should do this more often,' he thought. 'Though perhaps not with Marty'. The ghost was coughing unceremoniously into the wastepaper basket.

"Are you okay?" asked Jeff, though he was feeling far too warm and relaxed to really care.

Marty rematerialised beside him on the bed. "Right as rain. It's just been a while. I haven't quite got the hang of...swallowing things again. Except for beer, that is."

"Hmm." Jeff scratched his nose, trying to think of something nice to say to cover his embarrassment. "It was nice, though."

"Yeah. But I didn't seem to get much out of it. I have all my senses back, and I'd like to use them."

"Right."

Realising that he was being called upon to do something to Marty, Jeff swallowed nervously and raised himself on one elbow. Their unwanted escapade to the future had turned very strange, he thought. But not altogether unpleasant.

Jeff contemplated his deceased partner's small blue eyes and rosebud mouth for a moment. Marty was silent and serious, a state so rare that Jeff felt he should take a moment to memorise it. Then he placed his lips on Marty's, kissing him slowly and deliberately.

When he broke the kiss, Jeff looked at Marty with sudden concern. "Marty, what if the Holodeck suddenly went off? I mean, I doubt anyone would be impressed to have two naked, middle-aged Yorkshiremen lying in their midst!"

"Oh, that's fine by me. If the Holodeck breaks down, I'll be invisible and immaterial anyway. You're the only naked Yorkshireman they'll be seeing." Marty gave him the once-over. "And not a bad looking one at that. You might be a short-arse, but you're all man."

Jeff smirked, pleased by the flattery. He kissed the tip of Marty's little nose, and then tugged at the ghost's white shirt. "Do these clothes come off?"

Marty lifted his sandy eyebrows and grinned wickedly. "Why don't you give them a try and find out?"

* * * * *

Fred Mumford was even happier now. Embracing a lover for the first time in three million years, he sighed contentedly. *All* his wishes had truly come true.

He thought of the planet he had lived on all that time.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice.

Fred Mumford laughed. Oh this was so good. All these years alone and now Timothy Claypole was back, living up to his name and no mistake. Fred went back to what he was doing. God he'd missed this.

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

Han Solo stood at the bar miserably. Luke was in his element, mixing with all these new people, telling them about the force. The kid was just so enthusiastic. It would be sickening if it wasn't so endearing. Han looked around. There was one other person at the bar. And he looked as miserable as Hans felt. He was a tall, slightly balding man wearing a long, impractical coat. Hey. May as well introduce himself.

"Hi there - Han Solo. How you doing?" Han nodded.

The man smiled, a lopsided cynical smile, and nodded back, "Crowe, Dr Malcolm Crowe." The conversation stalled after that. It had got far too intimate for either of them.

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

Jeff lay back and rested his head on his hands, smiling beatifically.

"Marty that was fantastic," he said. "Where on earth did you learn stuff like that?"

Marty just grinned. He had to have some secrets.

A spooky inter-dimensional voice interrupted whatever Jeff was about to say to fill the gap.

"Marty - you must return - you cannot stay on this plane of existence for so long."

"Blimey Marty - I never knew you could do ventriloquism," Jeff looked startled.

"I can’t. It’s Wyvern. I’d forgotten all about him. Last time I saw him I said I was just popping down for a minute to keep you company."

"That was over three million years ago," the voice boomed.

"Wyvern - I can’t come back. Maybe you should just come here." Marty said. It seemed like a rational enough suggestion. Wyvern obviously agreed because less than a second later he was there.

"Oh. Have I interrupted something? I’m...wait a minute - there’s something different about you Marty. I can’t quite place it." Wyvern looked puzzled.

"Is it the fact that I’m stark-bollock naked perhaps?" Marty asked.

"No. It’s not that. Ah. I know. You’ve lost ectoplasm. That’s it. Have you been in contact with any strange ethereal otherworldly entities?"

"Just a few," Marty said.

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

In the bar the atmosphere had begun to get a lot more sexually charged.

Lister and Rimmer had returned from their broom-cupboard foray and both were grinning stupidly.

"Do you fancy a drink?" Lister asked.

Rimmer nodded sleepily. Lister went to the bar to get something special. A celebration drink.

While he was there he couldn’t help overhearing a conversation between the two rugged looking men already there.

"So you have no idea why you’re here?"

"No. The little kid I’m treating thinks he sees dead people. I’m just trying to get him through a difficult time."

"Well he obviously does see dead people. Look around you - they’re everywhere."

"No - they can’t be dead. It’s all in the mind."

"Are you a figment of your own imagination then?"

"What?"

"Well how can you be here if..."?

"Excuse me gentlemen," Lister interrupted, "You wouldn’t happen to have any spare lubrication of some kind? A little ectoplasm should do the trick. Only me and my friend seem to have run out see." Lister turned away, stifling a giggle as the two men blanched. Hehe - he loved freaking people out - it should have tried this sooner. Always good to get a rise out of people. Got a good one out of Rimmer.

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

"Sam, lookee here. They’ve got things here that are nearly as good as Ziggy!" Al had acquired a tri-corder from the Doctor.

"Al - that’s not a toy. And this is far into our future - I’m sure it’s far more sophisticated than Ziggy," Sam rubbed his eyes. Al was getting to him. He didn’t know why.

"Yeah sure, whatever, anyway it says here that there’s a 60 per cent probability that you’re here to get laid," Al had also managed to get another cigar. These holograms were almost as good as the real thing.

"What?" Sam spluttered.

"Gee you’re spluttering - never actually seen anyone do that. Thought it was kinda like jaw dropping and eye-popping - you know metaphorical," Al chewed on his cigar and winked.

"Let me see that thing Al." Sam grabbed the tricorder from Al’s hand. Al shook his head.

"See - it’s what it says. Can’t argue with technology."

"Al - what have you done with it?"

"Why nothing. It did it all by itself. Funny thing about doing things all by yourself - it can get pretty boring after a while. Always better to have someone along for the ride," Al grinned.

"What are you talking about Al?"

"Oh I think you know."

"What? What do I know? Apart from the fact that you are definitely pushing it?"

"Pushing what?" Al asked innocently, grabbing the tricorder back. "Oh. That’s interesting, it’s gone up to 90 per cent now. I wonder what that means?"

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

The Doctor stood in the corner and watched. This was all very odd. A few hours ago most of these people couldn’t even touch. Now they were doing nothing but.

"Interesting isn’t it?" Tom Paris was suddenly standing behind the Doctor. A little closer than usual.

"What is interesting? " The Doctor said nonchalantly.

"Oh nothing, just interesting." Tom smiled.

"Lieutenant Paris - you’re going to have to be more specific. I’m afraid you’re being a little obtuse," The Doctor frowned.

"Oh am I? Well thank you for telling me. I’ll have to make a special effort to curb my obtuseness in future," Tom said wryly. "Although I think you may be the one who’s acting obtuse."

"Obtusely Mr Paris. I’m acting obtusely."

"Well yes you are. I think you should pay a little more attention to what’s going on around you," Tom said.

"I am quite aware."

"Doctor. You need a drink. A big stiff one," Tom smiled and walked towards the bar. He turned around to see the Doctor’s reaction and was pleased to see he’d made the hologram look startled. /My what big brown eyes you have! / Tom thought to himself. He’d never noticed it before.

A grey-haired bearded man with a brown-hooded robe looked over the Doctor’s shoulder.

"You must use the force," he said gnomically.

"What force?" The Doctor asked, fairly reasonably he thought.

"Ah! Yes. And now, if you’ll excuse me - I have some unfinished business to deal with." The man nodded and wandered away to go and talk to a younger-looking, very tall bearded man - also with a hooded brown robe.