Red Galactica
By Chaoseternus

Karen: first off, what black boxes? I have checked this, and i have had a few other people i know off check the uploaded fic and none report black boxes. Also, this is proofread and checked for grammer but there is LITTLE i can do about insistance on stripping or changing the punctuation on every html file i upload. i try to edit manually in editor to get it back, but frankly i dont always have the time.

For the rest of you, another one, hope you enjoy...

Three

Kara scowled as she saw Tigh walking the corridors, not even bothering to hide the bottle in his hand.

“"I think Adama needs that more than you do right now”"

2“Heh, so do I, why do you think..."

“"Brill-smegging-illiant!”"

Kara and Tigh glanced at each other as Listers words echoed down the corridor, and reached silent accord. The bottle was opened, and each took as swift pull. If anyone of them was anywhere around, they would need the fortification.

Hell, Rimmer was so bad he had forced two cylons into revealing themselves just so they could be locked away where the strange humans... err... beings from the Red Dwarf couldn't find them.

Kara grinned, the expression on their faces when she had literally dragged a plastered Lister into the cell next to them was utterly priceless, a thing to be treasured and the only time in her entire life she had felt true sympathy for the machines.

“"Nice guns”"

“"Thank you”"

Tigh and Kara eyed themselves warily, just Lister being in the area sent their minds to the worst places and right now they were hearing a female member of their crew complement Listers guns just around the corner.

Their eyes crossed, and then they shuddered in unison.

"“Yeah, any place around here where I can show how they work?”"

“"No, not really”"

"“Ah, but come on, you know they say with these things you can hit the target first time every time”2

Muffled giggles assaulted their ears, then the softly voiced reply, “"Well, the marine gunnery range is usually empty this time of day”"

“"NO!"” they dived around the corner to see a bemused looking Lister holding up a massive rifle with bazookoid in flashy, but faded writing on the side.

“"Aw, but come on, I just wanted to show off my gun”"

Tigh and Kara shuddered in unison, and Lister laughed, “"Somebody's minds going dirty places hey? Maybe you to ought to get together and get some, relieve some tension."

Kara and Tigh glanced at each other. The female crewmember, who turned out to be Cally took one look at their expressions, and dived for cover, abandoning Lister to his fate. If he was going to suggest that Tigh and Kara get together to their faces, then Darwin could sort it out in true evolutionary fashion.

---

Adama stopped, abruptly.

Glanced around the corridor once, rubbed his eyes as if to clear then of some phantom imprint then glanced across once more.

He shuddered.

“"Explain to me what exactly do you think you're doing?”"

“"Well, you asked me to paint this corridor sir, to cover up the burn marks because your crew have never had the chance”"

Adama glanced disbelieving at the new colour scheme.

"“Oh, the colour scheme, yes, Mr Rimmer suggested it, he said that with so many females among your crew they might like a bit of space that actually looked feminine for them. Cat helped me pick the colours and the drapes”"

Adama scrunched his eyes closed, praying to the Lords of Kobol that once he opened his eyes once more, everything would be as normal and this would all have been a bad dream.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn't.

He turned and left, Tigh could deal with that, he didn't want anything to do with it.

When he found Tigh and Kara chasing a fearful and scared Lister along the corridors, he just sighed, grabbed the discarded bottle of ambrosia and headed for his quarters, his mind firmly on one task.

One that involved this bottle, his own small cache of ambrosia and lots of glasses...

---

PS: I was sorely tempted to add this little snippet to the end ;-)

Five days later Commander Adama woke up in what appeared to be a mjor cylon city wearing a battered, yet obviously expensive red dress and holding an ID card declaring him to be model six, number 666.

When Adama got drunk, he got dddrrruuunnnkkk.