As before, this entire series is dedicated to Tim, who got me hooked on this show waaay back in the early days. But I also dedicate this particular story to all the members of the RDSS, who inspired me to write this. It may not be *actual* slash, but it's gonna be treading that thin, fine line. Thus the R rating. Seriously. If you're under the age of 15, for the love of Pete, don't read this. You'll warp your fragile little minds. And the last thing I need are your mothers sending me nasty e-mails. I get enough of that shit at work, thanks ever so much.

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Prologue

The derelict had no visible designation. And even if it were visible, would it really matter? It was a derelict. As such, it only had one basic purpose; survival. Survival for the crew of the newly freed Starbug XX. See a derelict, raid it. Lather, rinse, repeat.

She hung in the void, not doing much of anything at all. Hence the classification of derelict. Her hull was breached in several places, mostly around the crew decks. But even if the vacuum of space hadn't killed the crew so many millennia ago, the things that made the holes would have done it for sure. It was as if someone had taken a gigantic three-hole punch and used it on the ship in various, seemingly random spots. But no matter where the holes originated, there were always three right in a row, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly spaced, perfectly round.

Cauterized. That was the word Kochanski was looking for. Like wounds that had been healed not by bandages and competency, but by leaches and hot iron dipped in vinegar. She shuddered. It was such a clean job. Efficient. She briefly wondered what could possibly do such a thing, then slammed her mind shut against her imaginings. It was too horrible to even contemplate. She said a silent prayer that whatever it was was long gone, and they'd never, ever meet up with it. Even still, something nagged at the back of her brain. It was eerily familiar. She could almost hear a buzzing, buzzing... Buzzing.

She and Rimmer sat in the cockpit, not speaking, just watching the chrono tick away the hour that the rest of the crew promised they'd be gone. The Cat, Lister, Kryten and Hippolyta were aboard the derelict, scrounging for supplies. Rimmer had begged Hippolyta not to go, but she had raised an eyebrow at him and said, "Not on your tintype, lover. I'm in charge of security, remember? So, I secure that ship." He had shut up about it, but couldn't still his rumbling stomach.

Something was wrong here. Rimmer couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was very, very wrong. Maybe it was because she was aboard the derelict. Maybe because it had been forty five minutes without any radio contact. Or maybe it was down to the huge smegging holes in the hull. He felt himself getting a bit of a headache, and his ears began to ring. Like he'd spent the last day and a half listening to loud music. But there was no tinitus, just the echoing silence of the Starbug. He needed to hear a sound. Any sound. Even the sound of his own voice.

He turned to Kochanski. "You ok?"

"Fine." She was bent over her console, and didn't look up. Rimmer knew that she was coping with the stress by burying herself in her work.

Perhaps she had the right idea...

He looked intently at the images before him on the ops console. They were dancing, waving back and forth in a conglomeration of total and utter gibberish. He blinked. Still the same.

"Kochanski, are you having any problems with your console?"

"No, why?"

"Take a look at mine, would you?" She leaned across and glanced at his console.

"I don't see anything wrong with it."

"It's not dancing or waving about?"

"Noooo." She looked at Rimmer as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Look, why don't you go and get a snack or something, Rimmer? I'll be fine alone. You go rest for a moment."

Rimmer lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Kochanski, ma'am. I just..."

"I understand, Rimmer. Go on, then." Rimmer stood and exited the cockpit, just as the radio crackled to life. He turned a quick about face and leapt up the stairs to sit back in his seat.

"Kryten to Starbug. Come in Starbug." Kryten's voice sounded through the static. He didn't sound nervous or in trouble, and Rimmer sighed a deep sigh of relief.

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

"We're ready to come back aboard, Ma'am." Kryten stood in the vessel unprotected by any outer suit. He didn't need it. Hippolyta was right next to him, and the Cat and Lister were just around the bend, getting the last of the boxes ready for departure. "The mission was a complete success. We've found food stuffs, a few pieces of machinery and tools, and several big bolts of cloth!"

"Cloth?" came Rimmer's questioning voice over the com-link.

"Yeah, sweetie, cloth." Hippolyta turned on her own com-unit inside her space suit to speak to her lover. "Nice to have around. Bandages, new clothes, et cetera." She grinned like a shark. It was, without a doubt, the ugliest cloth she had ever come across. Orange, with huge green geometric shapes all over it. Kochanski would have an apoplectic seizure. That'd be a giggle for a few minutes.

"Any sign of the... thing... that did that to the hull?" Kochanski's voice now came over the link.

"Not a bit, ma'am." Kryten answered. "There are a few similar, smaller holes throughout the entire ship, but the structural damage is surprisingly light. The placing of the blasts indicated that they knew where to strike to get the most casualties with the least damage to the..."

"Stop!" screeched Kochanski. "Just... stop, Kryten. I really don't need to know. Ok?"

"Yes ma'am. Ready to transmit?"

"Green light. Load one of how many?"

"Four, possibly five if Miss Hippolyta's math is off."

"In a pig's ear, Kryten. And you know it." Hippolyta had her back to the mechanoid, and said this mildly, with an undertone of acid to it. She was securing the last tie-down to the pile of things that lay jumbled in a crate. If she didn't tie it down, the lack of gravity on the derelict would make it all float away. "Transmit, now." The crate vanished in a twinkling.

"You didn't add us to the transmit load, Miss Hippolyta."

She sighed. Kryten was beginning to be a big fat pain in her ass. "Fine, Kryten. Five transpos. Including us."

"Thank you, ma'am. Smug mode engaged."

"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick," she muttered to herself. "Lister! Cat! Get the lead out!" she snapped into the com-unit.

"Comin'!" Lister answered, as he and Cat came nearer, lugging three more large crates of various chattels. It was easy, due to the lack of gravitation. The boys practically bounced back to them. It proved to be a mistake.

A spanner hadn't been fully secured, and as they reached the valley of their jog, it bounced out of the top crate and went spinning lazily back the way they had come.

"Smeg!" exclaimed Lister. It missed his faceplate by mere inches.

"Let it go, Dave. Not a big deal." Hippolyta waved it off.

"Actually, Miss, it is. That was the only spanner we found, and we only have one on the 'Bug. We need it as a backup."

"Fine," snarled Hippolyta. "Dave?"

"I'm on it." He and the Cat put down the crates, and Dave loped back toward the liberated spanner.

He rounded a corner, following it. It whirled slowly a few feet down the corridor. He made a few more jumps, feeling the magnets in his boots pull him back to the floor each time. He made one last jump, and caught the spanner in one fist.

"Gotcha! Score one for Dave Lister! So fast! So tight!" He glanced around. He was in a portion of the ship that they hadn't really explored. He was in a large round room, and there were more of those strange holes. But these were much closer together than the others, and only on the walls. In the center of the room was a dais, lit from below with soft blues and greens. Sitting on the dais was...

A watch. A normal, plain wrist watch. With an indiglo face and digital readout.

"Right on. Need one of these." Dave snatched the watch off the dais, stuffed it in his carry-pouch and bounced back the way he came.

"You got it, Dave?"

"Yep, got it, Hippolyta."

"Let's the hell outta here. I've had an itchy trigger finger since we got on board, and Tin Can Trousers ain't helping the situation. Kochanski, transport."

If Kryten had a complaint or comeback to Hippolyta's put down, the derelict did not hear it, for at that moment, they all vanished off of it.

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

And a million eyes, attuned to one goal, watched them go.

That goal was... revenge.

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To be continued.