It Is Not Going to Be Looked After Terribly Well....

BILL MOYERS: 

When I was growing up, Tales of King Arthur, 

Tales of the medieval knights, 

Tales of the dragon slayers were very strong in My World.

 

JOSEPH CAMPBELL: 

Dragons represent GREED, really. 

 

The European Dragon guards things 

in His Cave, and What He Guards are

Heaps of Gold 

and 

Virgins. 

 

And he can’t make use of either of them,

but he just guards. 

 

There’s no Vitality of Experience,

either of The Value of The Gold 

or of The Female whom he’s guarding there.

“Tonto wheeled the double stretcher down the aisles of body racks, looking for Jimmy Jitterman's body. 

He'd already found Rimmer's; it lay on the stretcher goo-eyed and tongue lolling; but he couldn't find Jimmy's. Thirty minutes passed, and he still couldn't find it. It wasn't here.

He opened the small sound-proofed box, and Jimmy and Rimmer bounced out.

'Your body's not here, Jimmy. They must have auctioned it already.'

'I'll take that one, instead.'

'That's my body,' said Rimmer, firmly.

'Was.'

'Now wait a minute. Me and that body go back years. It has great sentimental value. You can't just take my body.'

'Get him another one.'

'I don't want another one.'

'OK. Don't a get him another one.'

'OK, get me another one.'

The soundwaves bounced back into the box. Tonto unhooked the nearest body to him and slammed it on to the stretcher alongside Rimmer's.

***

When Rimmer opened his eyes, he found himself standing in front of himself, before he remembered Jimmy was in his body, now, and he had a new one.

Rimmer wasn't quite sure how he felt. Pretty peculiar was about the best label he could find.

Seeing Jimmy in his body, standing in a way he would never have stood, his lips twisting his features into an expression he'd never seen before, made him feel an emotion he'd never experienced.

Jealousy was part of it. Anger was there. Frustration, certainly. A large scoop of nostalgia. And the same feeling he'd once had when he lent his mountain bike to his brother Howard, knowing, without evidence, it wasn't going to be looked after terribly well. And strangest of all, a weird kind of 'glowy' feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

'OK, let's get out of here,' Jimmy was saying with Rimmer's voice from inside Rimmer's body. Then Jimmy did something that made Rimmer feel even more peculiar. He was one of those men, macho-bred, who like to stand with their legs apart, one hand over the groin of their trousers, quite openly cupping their testicles.

He felt very odd indeed, watching helplessly as another man idly juggled his own genitalia. Or rather, his ex-genitalia.

Before he could cry out: 'Hey - keep your filthy hands off my goodies,' the swing doors at the far end of the Transfer Suite slammed open, and six armed officers came in, firing.

Rimmer didn't know who to be scared for most: himself or his ex-self.

Jimmy, in Rimmer's body, was standing, almost contemptuous of the guards' barrage, in the middle of one of the aisles, firing off two handguns, stolen from Tonto's victims. He was laughing, too. He was actually laughing. Using Rimmer's vocal cords and Rimmer's laugh. The high-pitched giggle which Rimmer usually reserved for moments of high humour. Hardly appropriate in a pitched battle to the death.

'Out the back!' Tonto was yelling.

'You go,' Jimmy laughed in Rimmer's body. 'I got me some goons to kill!'

'Leave it - you don't stand a chance.'

'Who cares?'

He flicked his guns, Cagney-style, as if the wrist-snapping motion would give the bullets extra speed, and howled hysterically as small explosions of red burst out of the chests of three of the six guards, killing two and earning the third a permanent desk job.

Rimmer cowered, half-dazed in his new body as this fresh horror unfolded in slow motion before him.

Here was the body of Arnold J. Rimmer, gunning down security guards like ducks at an arcade and plainly enjoying it, in full view of three police witnesses.

Now how was that going to look in court?

He wasn't in it, but his body was a cop killer.

This seemingly untoppable horror was then topped by an even more untoppable horror, moments later, and this second untoppable horror was then topped itself by a third, even more untoppable horror less than ten seconds after that.

Something that belonged inside Rimmer's body hit the wall wetly, and Jimmy screeched and spun round, clutching Rimmer's shoulder.

'I've been hit!' he giggled. Then his elbow exploded into a cloud of red mist, spinning him around again. 'Twice!' He snorted laughter-spittle, as Tonto laid down some covering fire and edged towards him.

'Come on, we can still get out.' Tonto grabbed Jimmy and hauled him through the doorway, still firing.

Rimmer stumbled after them.

They dashed down a corridor. Tonto and Jimmy effortlessly accelerated away. Rimmer couldn't keep up. For some reason, running was incredibly painful. But the pain wasn't in his legs, it was in his chest. Just what was this body he'd wound up in? A cardiac victim? A chronic smoker? Then he realized it was because he wasn't wearing a bra, and his large breasts were bouncing madly up and down in front of him.

'Oh my God,' he screamed in a husky female voice, 'I'm a woman!' 

And he was. He was Trixie LaBouch.