Untitled

Title: Where do I begin?

authors: Elvichar, Kim, Essy, and Vixen rouge

Genre: x-over - Red Dwarf, Rentaghost, Voyager, Quantum Leap, Star Wars, The Sixth Sense etc ad infinitum - do what you want people.

Pairings : Not yet - let's see.

Number of parts - ?

WHERE DO I BEGIN

part 1
by elvichar

Ted Mumford was depressed. Dead for over three million years and now alone in the universe. When he'd first died at least he'd had Timothy Claypole and the others to keep him occupied. And his parents had passed away without ever realising their only son had gone a long time before they had. And there had been something about that mad jester. Something comforting.

But, as these things always do, it had all gone horribly wrong. Ted had left Rentaghost to find some sort of inner peace. Hundreds of years later he'd stowed away on a ship bound for deep space. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Lots of company, exploring new planets. Boldly going. And now he was stuck on a godforsaken planet in the middle of the deepest, deepest space.

After waiting for so long for a ship to come along then, Ted was somewhat surprised when two came at once.

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

"Identify yourself," The pixie-woman with a voice like Katherine Hepburn on lithium had said.

"Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry if we've offended you in some way, but we haven't seen any other humans for...oooh...how long has it been Mr Rimmer sir?"

Captain Janeway sighed. The Voyager's first contact with humanity in all these years and they seemed to be even more lost than they were.

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

Ted looked into the blackness above. No stars, just two points of light - two ships. He was saved.

PART TWO
by Thesseli

"That is one big ship," Tom Paris commented, gazing up at the image on the viewscreen as they waited for the reply. Not at all sleek or streamlined, but boxy, and its outer hull a deep eye-catching red. It looked like it was over a kilometer long. "Do you suppose they came to investigate the strange sensor readings coming from that planet too?"

"That remains to be seen, Mr. Paris," replied Captain Janeway, hands on her hips as she too studied the strange new spacecraft.

"It would be unlikely that they merely 'stumbled across' this location, halfway to the Delta Quadrant," said Tuvok.

"And the being that spoke to us inferred that at least some of the crew is human," Janeway said. "Now what would a Federation ship be doing way out here? With minimal lifesigns? That ship is big enough to carry hundreds, maybe thousands, but according to our sensors there are less than a handful of people on board."

"Maybe not even people," added Ensign Kim. "I think the one that spoke to us was some kind of android, and there's someone or something else that I can't get a fix on. Kind of like the doctor without his mobile emitter."

"Same as what's down on the planet," mused Janeway. "Audio on." She waited as the verbal connection was re-established, her curiosity piqued. "Unidentified vessel, I say again -- identify yourselves."

PART THREE
By Essy

Mumford looked up at the huge red giant that eclipsed the second ship. With no coin to toss, he just shrugged his shoulders and chose blindly. Pinching his nose, he vanished.

***

"Sirs, all I'm suggesting is that we wait to identify ourselves until we find out who these people are and what they want from us."

"Look, Kryten man, all I'm saying is that they might have vital supplies. We're running low on some really essential items. I mean really incredibly important things!"

"Such as?"

"Videos! I've watched every film on board about a million times."

"Clothes. Do you know what it's like having to worry all day about whether you're three million years out of date."

"If you could just try to see the bigger picture Mr Cat, sir. The scans are taking time to run, they may have weapons. They have technology far in advance of our own."

"You have to do that don't you? It's not about stating technical capacity it's about making me feel small. Can't you just take it as read that anything more complex than a Tonka toy is more technically advanced than us and then leave it be?"

Kryten immersed himself in the readouts and pretended not to hear.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"Their computer has a quite complex, user-defined VR suite. Similar to Mr Lister's old 'Better Than Life' game, but without the addictive element."

There was a long pause before Lister spoke. "Kryten, we are *definitely* boarding that ship!"

***

He rematerialised in a grey painted corridor, every so often the walls would bear the legend JMC. Then he heard voices. At last! Mumford thought to himself, Company!"

"I don't think this is necessary."

"They're never going to let us play with their computer if we don't greet them nicely!"

"Sir their intentions were less than clear, if we retreat to the lower level and seal the arrivals deck temporarily, then when they board, we'll be able to question them, without risk."

"But I don't see why we have to wait in the basement levels..."

"Don't go into the cellar!!!"

They gaped at the stranger, who shrugged sheepishly and said "Sorry. Force of habit."

part four
by Vix

Down in the bowels of the mining ship Red Dwarf a sheet of blue lightening became the solid form of a tall man. The man steadied himself against the railing and looked around at the advanced yet grungy machinery humming all about. He finally focused on the shiny side of a glowing box.

"Ohhh, boy," Sam Beckett whispered to his reflection. "I've Leaped as myself!"

******

Dave Lister stared at the nervous normal-looking man in front of him and slowly grinned a gerbil-cheeked grin. If this was an example of the strange ship's boarding techniques they had nothing to worry about.

"Hi, guy! Listen, you don't know how good it is t'see a human! I mean a real HUMAN! Not that these guys aren't great and all," he said to his three glaring shipmates, "but a mechanoid, a cat and a dead hologram can't really appreciate a nice curry, can they?" Lister took a step forward and lowered his voice confidentially. "So, what IS your ship's curry situation?"

"Errr..." said the stranger.

"'Cause we've got plenty of lager, but we're really low on is cumin and chili powder..."

"Oh, WILL you SHUT UP about the smegging CURRY!" Rimmer exploded. He rounded on the newcomer and shook a long finger at him. "Listen, m'lad..."

"Ted." Ted squeaked.

"Right. Ted. I don't know what you're playing at, but as commander of this vessel," Rimmer ignored the snickers and giggles from his crewmates,"...as commander of this vessel I demand..."

The being called Ted suddenly grabbed his nose in an odd gesture... and disappeared.

The crew of the Dwarf stared at the spot for a very long second.

"Damn!" The Cat said finally into the silence. "That must be some sinus problem!"

*****

Sam Beckett wandered through the deserted shipscape of pipes and ducts, deep in thought. The last time he could recall Leaping as himself, and not into another's persona, was the weird Leap where he was in some small town, and he had to save some miners, and talked to God who was a bartender...

No, that wasn't right. Was it?

He really hated this time-traveled induced amnesia. 'Swiss-cheesed', Al had dubbed it.

That's right! It had something to do with his partner Al! He had righted a wrong for Al...and his friend had disappeared. He had been Leaping on his own now… for how long? Months? Years?

Well, Sam hoped Al was happy, wherever he was. Whatever Sam did.

After picking through what seemed to be grossly neglected service ducts Sam found an elevator...a reassuringly old-fashioned looking lift that operated with switches. Pressing 'up', he leaned against the railing opposite and sighed.

"Ya know, starin' at it won't make it go any faster, kid." said the warm gravelly voice behind him.

****

"Great, just great! This is your fault, you smeghead." Lister said with a distracted pull on his dreadlocks. "First human contact since forever and YOU scare him off!"

"Act-u-ally that would be 'no'," said a feminine voice by his elbow.

"What's that, Hol?"

"Weelllll, first off, your friend Ted didn't come from the ship out there," said the ship's computer. Holly peered up through her blond bangs at Lister… or as much as a computer-generated disembodied head on a monitor screen *could* peer up. "Second, he's..."

"Dead!" Kryten said. He'd been staring at the readouts on Holly's monitors since Ted's' disappearance.

"What, a hologram like me?" said Rimmer, an odd mix of hope and fear in his voice.

"No, Mr. Rimmer, sir. As in a...ghost!"

part five
by Ariana

The clunky red ship still filled Voyager's viewscreen.

"They're not answering our hails, Captain," said Kim, looking down at his console.

Paris turned to look at Janeway. "They seem to have forgotten all about us. I wonder what's going on over there."

"I don't know. Maybe we should beam some of our indispensable senior staff over there and find out," said Janeway thoughtfully. Chakotay, sitting beside her, nodded approvingly. But then he rarely argued with her: after all these years, he was still hoping to get the captain in bed.

"I'll tell you one thing," said Kim, "we're getting clearer readings on the life signs on that ship. Two humans, one humanoid apparently related to the cat family, one android and um... a couple of other things I can't quite get a fix on."

"A couple of other 'things'?" queried Tuvok, raising one eyebrow.

Kim shrugged. "I think one is some kind of primitive hologram. The others, I don't know."

"Captain, we're being hailed," said Paris.

The viewscreen filled up with the image of a man with flared nostrils and an H on his forehead.

"This is Arnold J. Rimmer, acting commanding officer of the mining ship Red Dwarf--" The man interrupted himself briefly and made a face as persons unseen sniggered behind his back. "We are in need of some supplies."

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. We're always happy to trade. What can we do for you, Mister Rimmer?"

Rimmer went in to some kind of huddle with his crewmates, including the android they had seen earlier. Janeway could hear snippets of conversation.

"Tell her we need chilli sauce, man."

"Never mind the sauce! I need a whole new wardrobe. Even my best silk shirt has so many holes in it you could put it on a table and call it a doily!"

"We *could* do with some new hoover bags, sir. Frankly, sewing up your old underpants just didn't achieve the same suction power."

"Really? Hey, buddy, at least there's one thing about you that doesn't suck."

"Oh brilliant, now the Cat has developed a wit. Look, are we getting any chilli sauce or not?"

"Perhaps we should compile a shopping list, sir, and then allow them to--"

The one called Rimmer had evidently had enough of this. He approached the camera again and smiled egregiously. He made a ridiculous salute. "Captain, ma'am. Seeing as you're so advanced, you wouldn't happen to have the ability to give a hologram a solid body, would you?"

Janeway exchanged a surprised look with Chakotay. She smiled at Rimmer.

"Well, as it happens, we do. Why don't you all come over and we can discuss trade arrangements?"

* * * * * *

Seven of Nine was working with Harry Kim in the transporter room. She looked up as the door swished open, and then turned her attention back to the console when she saw who had joined them.

"Naomi Wildman," she said dully.

"Hi, Naomi," said Kim.

"Hi," said the little girl. "Can I help you with something? What are you doing?"

Seven didn't look at the child. "We are recalibrating the transporter beam in order to bring over the occupants of that ship."

Naomi peered at the console. "Can I do the transporting? Harry showed me how, didn't you, Harry?" Kim nodded with an avuncular smile. "You press this button and then you wipe your fingers on this thing."

Naomi's demonstration was suitably correct, so Seven allowed her to activate the transporter. The girl had no sooner run her grubby fingers along the energising slide than an alarm went off. Several forms fluctuated on the transporter pad.

"Oh gee, have I done something wrong?" exclaimed the little girl.

"We are experiencing fluctuations in the transporter beam," said Seven, pushing Naomi aside.

"There's some kind of gravametric distortion emanating from the planet's core," said Kim.

Naomi frowned. "Can't you compensate?"

"Don't be a Wesley Crusher, Naomi," said Kim, patting her shoulder. "Now, run along like a good little girl."

"Who is Wesley Crusher?" asked Seven once Naomi had left and the transporter seemed reasonably stable.

"Someone Starfleet officers only mention with a shudder," said Kim with a grin. "Oh, here we go."

In spite of herself, Seven was relieved to see the six figures materialise on the transporter pad. She was beginning to develop that human weakness, compassion, and she knew it would have upset her to lose all these people, even though they were complete strangers. She hated being upset.

All of the people were male. The two nearest to Seven were a human with ropes growing out of his head, and a humanoid with big teeth and a lamé suit. With them was a man which Seven's tricorder identified as some kind of mobile hologram.

"Holy smeg!" said the man with the ropes when he saw Seven.

"Now that is a Babe with a capital B," said the one with the big teeth.

"No, Cat, that is a Barbie with a capital B," said the hologram disdainfully.

The android standing behind them pushed to the front. "Do excuse them, Ma'am. They haven't seen a woman in rather a long time. This is Dave Lister, and the Cat, and the hologram is Rimmer. I am Kryten."

He smiled politely. Seven looked him over with undisguised disgust. "You are an android. A primitive mechanical being devoid of organic matter. The Borg once used your sort to perform menial maintenance tasks."

"That's right, Ma'am," said Kryten. "I am a service mechanoid, at your service. If you need anything cleaned or washed or..." His square face took on a dreamy expression. "...*ironed*, just ask and I will be more than happy to comply. In fact, it will be my pleasure!"

While Seven was busy talking to the mechanoid, Rimmer and Lister had discovered that there was a stranger in their midst (the Cat was too busy staring at Seven to notice).

"Who the smeg are you?" asked Lister.

The man was looking around in awe at the transporter pad. He stared at Lister.

"I'm Sam Beckett. And before you ask, I've no idea what I'm doing here."

Seven looked in his direction and noticed something odd. Standing beside Beckett was a pale holographic projection of a man in the sort of flashy shirt Tom Paris favoured in the Holodeck beach scenario. She noticed that no one else seemed able to see him. Intrigued, Seven approached.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The hologram seemed surprised. He glanced at Beckett. "Sam, you don't suppose she can see me?"

"Of course I can see you," said Seven calmly. "I have specially adapted implants."

Dave Lister guffawed and looked at her chest. "You don't say!"

Seven ignored him. "I can see that you are short, old and wearing what I believe is termed a Hawaiian shirt."

"Short and old?!" exclaimed the hologram.

"She can definitely see you, Al," said Beckett with a grin. "He isn't normally visible to anyone but me."

"Ah, a subjective holographic projection," said Seven, nodding approvingly. "That explains why he is so faint."

"Well, people," said Kim in a loud I-am-making-an-announcement voice. "What do you say we all move on to the Mess Hall?"

"Short, old, and *faint*?!" grumbled Al as they all started to file out of the transporter room.

Seven was about to follow when she noticed that the transporter pad was reactivating on its own. Alarmed, she stayed and watched as another figure started to materialise.

* * * * * *

"Marty, this is dead boring, you know," sighed Jeff, leaning his head on his hand.

"Oh, stop whining and turn the page," said Marty impatiently. "I'll never finish this article on the latest Pentium III laptops if you don't shut up and keep turning the pages."

"But I don't care about laptops!" exclaimed Jeff. "And this magazine you made me buy is ridiculous. Four quid's worth of ads and typos and pictures of machines. And what's with these foldout ads? How am I supposed to keep this thing flat when it keeps falling open on ads for Dell and Dan and I don't know whatnot else!"

Marty widened his eyes and lifted his hands as if he was carrying a handbag. "Oooh, didn't we get up the wrong side of bed this morning!"

"Marty, you're a ghost. What do you need to know about computers for anyway?"

The ghost drew himself to his full height -- not very high, but still higher than Jeff (which wasn't very hard). He pouted and put his hands on his hips.

"You wouldn't let it lie!" he exclaimed grandiosely. "You just had to remind me I'm a ghost."

"I would have let it lie, but I'm fed up with turning pages," said Jeff with a grudging smile. "You are the slowest reader in the universe. It's worse than your driving!"

Marty shrugged and wandered off like a sulking child. "You don't know what it's like. I can't do *anything* without you. I have to go everywhere you go, I can only read what you want to read, watch the TV shows and movies you want to see. Why don't you ever take me somewhere interesting like... the theatre?"

"Theatre? What, you want to go and see MacBeth or something?" said Jeff.

Marty brightened up. "Yes. That has a ghost in it, doesn't it? And lots of blood and magic and stuff. And I've never seen it all the way through. I fell asleep when Mum wanted to watch the BBC production."

Jeff stared at Marty with undisguised horror. He pictured himself having to sit through three hours of incomprehensible Shakespearian verse. Or worse, Marty might insist they go to the reconstructed Globe Theatre. Jeff pictured himself *standing* through three hours of incomprehensible Shakespearian verse.

Marty could tell Jeff wasn't impressed. "Okay, what about the opera?"

"Gilbert and Sullivan?" said Jeff hopefully.

"No, how about sad stuff like Puccini?"

"Puccini? Marty, since when are you such a fan of classical things?"

Marty waved his arms in irritation. "Since I've been bored out of my mind! I'm tired of coming to this office every day and talking to you all the time, and then going to your place to watch you eating takeaways and crisps. I need action, I need entertainment. I'm tired of living your dreary life with you!"

Jeff made a face and crossed his arms. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not interesting enough for you to haunt. Of all the ungrateful--"

He interrupted himself as something very strange happened. The office around him faded into static, like an untuned television set, only more so. Then it reformed into a room with shiny metallic panels. Since Jeff's chair had disappeared from under him, he fell on his bottom with a thud.

There was a bald man in some kind of padded pyjamas standing beside the platform Jeff was sitting on.

"Ah, welcome to Voyager," said the man, helping Jeff to his feet. He then consulted a flat PDA-type thing he was holding. "I am the doctor on board, and I am a hologram. Don't worry, I will take anything you say absolutely seriously."

Marty shimmered into existence and observed the doctor with amusement. "Tell him your mother is an orang-utan, and see if he takes *that* seriously... Though come to think of it, he just might!"

Jeff made a face at him.

"I apologise for dragging you here," continued the doctor. "Our transporter is malfunctioning and seems to be randomly beaming in people from various time periods and alternate universes who can communicate with invisible or dead beings. Now, you seem real enough. Do you have a friend, relative or work colleague who is a hologram or a ghost? And is he or she visible to other people besides yourself?"

"What is this, a survey?" asked Marty.

"I... um..." Jeff looked around him, completely bewildered. "My partner's a ghost. I'm the only one who can see him."

The doctor smiled pleasantly. "Good, now, if you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to a few people you have some things in common with."

* * * * * *

"Blimey, what is this? The Casper fanclub reunion?" exclaimed Marty when the doctor ushered them into a place called the 'Holodeck'. "Some of these people are ghosts!"

"I know, I can see them."

Jeff looked around at the room. It looked like an old-fashioned American bar, and there were already quite a few people there. Some looked pretty ordinary, though their costumes varied wildly. But others were dressed in white, like Marty. The only difference was that these ghosts were touching things: their drinks, the furniture, even the people around them.

"Marty..."

Jeff followed his hunch and held out his hand. It met the now solid surface of Marty's white coat. The ghost's little blue eyes grew quite large with astonishment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted as a man with dreadlocks came to join them.

"Hey, welcome to the Spooks and Holograms convention!" he said with a congenial smile. "This is my dead colleague Rimmer the Hologram."

"Will you stop introducing me as 'dead'," said the hologram. "You're ruining my chances!"

"Look, you can touch again, man. Can't you stop being a smeghead for a minute?" He held out his hand. "Dave Lister. I'm one of the living ones."

"Marty Hopkirk. Deceased," said Marty, shaking the man's hand as if he couldn't quite believe that he could. "I used to know a Graham Lister. Never met a Dave, though."

"Oh, and what was the Graham like?"

"Um. A 'smeghead' as you say." Marty obviously liked that expression. Jeff had a feeling he'd be hearing it again.

"I'm Jeff Randall," he said since he felt he had to say something.

"Oh really?" said Rimmer. "That's funny, because so is that man over there."

The hologram indicated a tall man with a Seventies hairstyle. He was chain smoking and talking to a ghost in a cream suit.

Marty leaned over to mutter in Jeff's ear. "Another Jeff Randall, eh? If that shortarse in the Beatles wig turns out to be a Marty Hopkirk, I'll scream."

part six
by Elvichar

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.

part seven
by Thesseli

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.

part eight
by Essy

"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.

part nine
by Bluesky

... 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 envitable.

part ten
by Vixenrouge

"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.

part eleven
by Ariana

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.

part twelve
by Elvichar

"Gadzooks Master Mumford!" The jester proclaimed.

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.

part thirteen

Thesseli "Al," Sam said, trying to be patient but at the same time trying to get a look at the device his hologramatic partner was holding. He refused to believe that the reason behind his incredible journey through time and space was merely to, as Al put it, 'get laid'. He had to see it for himself. "Give me back the tricorder." The admiral and many-times-decorated war hero shook his head. "Nope. Not gonna." Then he grinned wickedly, dangling the device just out of reach. "If you want it, come and get it." "Al..." he warned, but there was something about the older man's expression that made Sam decide to call his bluff. His eyes narrowed and his arm shot out towards the tricorder...but just as fast, Al's hand caught his sleeve and pulled him closer. Much closer. "Now Sam," he purred. "Isn't this much better than sitting alone in a holo-bar watching _everyone else_ having fun?"

part fourteen soon