#(I would have been waking the cat constantly in petty revenge otherwise)

[blueheartedmayor]

The only positive I can gleam from being woken over five times by a wandering, lamenting cat is that I think this is how Dante normally feels.

He's got trauma-based insomnia. While people are vulnerable while they sleep, his mind pushes it further to link sleep with losing part of himself if he's not careful. Since he's also technically a ghost possessing a body rather than a soul inhabiting a body, he can rest. But in most cases, his mind wakes him up before he can fall too deeply asleep. Usually, you'll find him physically resting rather than trying to sleep.

When I draw Dante, I make the areas around his eyes darker. That's not makeup. He doesn't wear any. That's purely sleep deprivation.

His exhaustion is a weariness, that sensation that presses down on his shoulders. It doesn't make him cranky, nor does it affect his functioning day-to-day. He's used to it. By default, he's preserving energy when people meet him, and the aches he feels gives him further reason to keep slow (assuming nothing confrontational happens). He can barely remember what being well-rested actually feels like. Without the luxury of somewhere he can safely hide away and properly rest without any interference (intentional or accidental), along with survival instincts, he's doomed. Plus, he doesn't have any sort of pocket Void. When Dante appeared there to meet the viewer, it was actually the "edge of the story".

Add to this his chronic pain, and you get an entity that is fairly weak in terms of physical stamina. If he exerts himself too much, he could literally end up bedridden.

So why is he the villain? This particular Damien is literally not built for it, largely due to the life he was forced to live. Unfortunately, the intended villain of the timeline never died due to a surprise arrival.

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | From the Beginning >>

Chapter 27

Tinystar opened his eyes, more exhausted than when he’d gone to sleep. He’d dragged himself into his nest far after moonhigh, when the sky was just starting to lighten. Sandstorm hadn’t stirred as he’d laid himself down, drained to his core, and shut his eyes. His dreams were fleeting and hard to catch, like a butterfly escaping a kit’s claws – but his anger… it boiled like greenleaf flame.

Mouth dry, Tinystar forced himself to wake. Sandstorm had left the nest, her scent lingering still. The bulk of the Clan didn’t know that he’d gone out last night. He had to project strength.

It’s all for revenge. He thought as he stretched, trying to force the sleepiness from his body. The more he thought about the meeting with Scorch last night, the more frantic energy filled him. His claws clutched his nest, some part of him pretending that the bedding was Scorch’s pelt. He’s going to drive us all out because of petty revenge!

Tinystar tried to force his fur to lie flat. It used to be Bluestar’s actions that caused his temper to flare – it didn’t help that her mentorship had nutured that part of him – but now it was Scorch. His own half-brother! A cat he’d looked up to as a kit, who’d tell him stories and come and visit Tinystar more than his own littermates!

He took a deep breath. It does no good to get worked up now, he thought. What’s happening is happening – there’s no changing it. If StarClan has pitted us against one another then I will do everything in my power to stop him.

Tinystar padded out of his den. Leaf-bare sunlight shone weakly down on the clearing, the cats in motion like flitting shadows in the gray dawn. No cat was panicking – it seemed as if no one knew he’d gone. Sandstorm was leading the kits off, all three bouncing around her and Stormpaw as they pushed through the gorse tunnel. Tawnypelt and Featherpaw followed.

Tinystar spotted Whitestorm with Mistypaw and Ashpaw near the camp walls. The two apprentices were patching the wall, weaving sticks in with paws and jaws to reinforce the camp’s defenses. Tinystar padded over to Whitestorm’s side, keeping an eye on the two. Ashpaw had a history of anger at Stonepaw – was he like that with Mistypaw?

“Everything is fine,” Whitestorm mewed under his breath, as if he could hear Tinystar’s thoughts. “They’re both focused on their task – I thought that would be best.”

“Thanks,” Tinystar agreed. Mistypaw was still distraught over the loss of her brother – she needed to keep her paws busy. He wasn’t sure if it would help Ashpaw, though. There might never be any way to make him see his denmates differently.

Tinystar blinked, putting his attention to the barrier itself. He imagined BloodClan rogues streaking through the forest and crashing into it with full force. He saw the barrier bending and swaying and breaking as a tide of BloodClan cats swarmed into the clearing. For a moment the quiet sounds of morning were replaced with the screaming of cats dying. Tinystar swallowed and shook away the vision.

And yet the gorse was waving for real.

Tinystar bristled, opening his jaws to call out warning – but only two shapes emerged. Two black-and-white shapes. Tinystar shut his jaws. It was Ravenpaw and Barley!

“Well, this is a surprise,” Whitestorm admitted.

Tinystar’s tail twitched. “Greetings, Ravenpaw. Barley.”

Barley, who lived in the barn at the edge of the territories, looked uncomfortable being around so many cats. Tinystar guessed that the loner had never been in the heart of the Clan’s territories before – he seemed alright with being just at the fringes. Ravenpaw, however, looked calm and comfortable, his eyes bright as he looked at Tinystar.

“We heard about what’s going on from a WindClan patrol,” Ravenpaw reported. “We set out as soon as we could – we want to help.”

Whitestorm frowned. “Admirable,” he admitted, “but is it really your place?”

Ravenpaw narrowed his eyes. “ThunderClan was my home. I might be a loner now, but part of me will always be a warrior.”

“I understand that,” Tinystar meowed. He looked to Barley. “But you? You have no reason to fight.”

Barley shuffled on his paws. Ravenpaw laid his tail on his friend’s back. “It’s all right,” the young loner mewed reassuringly. “Barley has some information for you, Tinystar. He thinks it might help.”

Tinystar glanced at Whitestorm, who shrugged and turned his attention back to the apprentices at the barrier. Tinystar waved his tail for the loners to follow and led the way to a shady spot across the camp. The ferns that screened the medicine cat’s den kept them from prying eyes, too.

Barley tucked his paws beneath him as he settled down. Ravenpaw sat on his haunches, his tail wrapped around his friend’s bulk. Tinystar stifled a yawn and sat, curling his tail around his paws, leaning in to listen. He had to admit that curiosity was pricking his pelt – there was very little that any cat in the forest knew about their long-time loner neighbor.

“A-Alright…” Barley took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

“I’m with you,” Ravenpaw assured.

Barley shot him a grateful glance, tinged with affection. Tinystar wondered briefly if the two toms were more than just barnmates.

“I was once part of BloodClan,” Barley announced.

Tinystar’s ears pricked in surprise. The soft-pelted loner looked nothing like the ragged, skinny, muscular creatures that made up BloodClan.

“It’s true,” Barley mewed, gauging Tinystar’s reaction. “I remember growing up in an alley… BloodClan territory took up half the Twolegplace, it seemed. It was just me and my mother – she taught me and my littermates how to hunt and fight. I don’t know where our father was. We had to fight for and save nearly every scrap we could find.”

Barley swallowed. “The Clans out here… you guys have queens and systems made to take care of kits. Everyone works together for their survivial – but there’s nothing like that in BloodClan. It’s every cat for themselves. Mothers teach their kits how to hunt and fight but once you’re old enough you’re on your own.”

Ravenpaw murmured something comforting to Barley, to settle the tremor in his voice. Barley rumbled back.

“It gets brutal and violent.” Barley’s eyes grew haunted and dark with memories. “BloodClan adults don’t usually challenge queens with kits but… when you come to a certain age it doesn’t matter if you still rest at your mother’s belly – you have claws and you have to use them. Cats take what they want – food, grimy puddles, other cats – it doesn’t ever end. That’s why I left.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tinystar mewed gently. “But there must be some sort of order – otherwise why have a leader at all?”

“There is order – if you can call it that,” Barley went on. “Whatever BloodClan was started for, I don’t think that’s what it is now. But there’s a leader. There’s an inner circle of cats who watch over parts of the territory and the groups that wander in it. Disputes are settled… in their own way. In the end, though, it’s still survival of the fittest. You could hunt in a party of cats you’d known since you left your mother but if you can’t contribute you’re gone.”

“Do you know how Scorch became leader?” The mention of his half-brother’s name kindled the anger in Tinystar again.

“I don’t know,” Barley admitted. “When I was part of BloodClan there was a cat named Scourge in charge. Scorch must have killed him for the position – that would be the only way all of BloodClan would follow him.”

Tinystar stiffened. His brother… a murderer? You’ve seen just how dangerous he is, a small voice whispered. He’s always been capable. You’ve just been naïve.

“Why would any cat want to be part of that?” Tinystar mewed hoarsely, trying to punch down the anger growing in him. He tried to imagine how BloodClan worked – fighting and starving constantly for every scrap. No security when you grew too old or too hurt to fight. No thanks for your work.

“When you’re in Twolegplace you’re either a kittypet, loner, or a BloodClan cat,” Barley admitted. “Loners don’t last long in BloodClan territory. At least kittypets can hide in their nests for the most part. But you’re either with BloodClan or against them. Absolute or nothing at all.”

Tinystar frowned. BloodClan sounded like an awful deal – but starvation and looming death made cats do desperate things. “There must be some weakness,” he guessed. “BloodClan outnumbers both WindClan and ThunderClan together. Anything will be helpful.”

“They’re fierce fighters and they rarely leave opponents alive,” Barley answered, sympathy in his mew. “And they follow Scorch out of fear but that doesn’t mean that most of them aren’t nurturing darkness in their own hearts. But… they do have a weakness.”

Tinystar leaned in close.

“They don’t believe in StarClan,” Barley stated.

Tinystar frowned. “How is that…?”

“A Clan without a code can exist, yeah – but is it really a Clan without StarClan?” Barley went on. “A Clan without a StarClan is missing something fundamental – faith. BloodClan runs on bloodlust and fearmongering – there’s no faith in anything more than that.”

Tinystar swallowed. “You’re right,” he breathed. “Without StarClan… without our ancestors… we wouldn’t have any of their boons. No medicine cats to heal us, no omens to warn us of danger…”

“No nine lives,” Ravenpaw finished meaningfully.

“No nine lives,” Tinystar repeated.

Scorch doesn’t have nine lives!

He swallowed. Somehow the thought had never occurred to him – a Clan that didn’t believe in StarClan? It seemed an impossible concept. Suddenly it felt like the task was somewhat easier – BloodClan was ruled through fear of Scorch. Eliminate Scorch and BloodClan would disperse. Yet that meant… eliminating Scorch.

My brother will have to die to save the Clans… Tinystar shuddered. There was still a part of him that dreaded the thought. Oh StarClan!

He swallowed again. “T-Thank you, Barley,” he rasped. “This is very helpful.”

“I hope so,” Barley purred.

Ravenpaw waved his tail. “Barley and I will be there, Tinystar. We’ll fight with you at Fourtrees.”

Tinystar frowned. “This is not your battle.”

“It is,” Barley mewed firmly, getting to his paws. The loner’s eyes were hard, and Tinystar wondered if he’d been taken far back in his memories, to his time with BloodClan. “If BloodClan takes over the forest it won’t take them long to find the barn. They’ll ravage it like they will the entire forest – and we won’t be able to escape. We might live on the outskirts but what happens in the forest affects us, too.”

“I’d shed blood for the Clans many times over,” Ravenpaw agreed. “Especially for ThunderClan.”

Gratitude swamped the fear and apprehension and anger welling within Tinystar now. He touched his nose to each of the loner’s foreheads, stretching to reach Barley’s round head.

“Thank you,” he forced himself to purr. “Thank you both.”

———————————————————-

Barley and Ravenpaw’s visit made Tinysar restless. After their departure – they stated they would stay with WindClan until the battle, to help them recover and prepare – Tinystar set off into the woods. He caught himself a thin mouse and ate it where it died, knowing his Clan was as full-fed as it could be in these lean times. Then he carried on to the training hollow.

The first batch of warriors out for training would be doubtless on to other tasks now, but the sandy hollow wouldn’t be empty until the battle with BloodClan. Even in the night hours there would be training going on, thanks to Graystripe and Oakheart’s schedule.

Tinystar picked his way up the ravine, following the trail to the sandy hollow. A flash of fur caught his eye – a patrol was heading his way. Tinystar raised his tail to greet Frostfur and Longtail as they mewed their own greetings and stopped before him.

“We’re glad we caught you,” Frostfur mewed. “We were patrolling Sunningrocks and we caught scent of ShadowClan and RiverClan across the river.”

“Still?”

Longtail nodded, his pale eyes flashing thoughtfully. “Seems like ShadowClan is hiding there. Wonder if BloodClan has taken the marshes? Maybe they’re trying to hang on to LionClan.”

“Foolish, if you ask me,” huffed Frostfur. “There just isn’t enough room for two Clans in one spot!”

Tinystar waved his tail. “Go get some fresh-kill,” he ordered. “Be ready for training.”

Longtail and Frostfur dipped their heads and headed for the ravine. Tinystar watched them disappear into the spindly, dry undergrowth. He knew the patrol to the Thunderpath would confirm what Tinystar and Cloudtail had discovered the night before – that BloodClan was in ShadowClan’s proper territory.

So LionClan hasn’t properly split? He thought, setting his paws back on the trail to the sandy hollow. Is Leopardstar really trying to hold them all together? How long can that last?

Reaching the sandy hollow, Tinystar settled himself out on the fringes of ThunderClan’s training area to let the warriors and apprentices have their proper space. Graystripe had Fernpaw and Snowpaw in one corner, while Sandstorm trained Willowpelt’s kittens in another. Cinderpelt was going over ThunderClan-style moves with Featherpaw, Stormpaw, and Tawnypelt. Off to another side, Dustpelt was sparring with Brightheart and Swiftfoot while Cloudtail watched.

Tinystar looked proudly at his Clanmates, all training their hardest. The sandy hollow was more full than he’d ever seen it. He flicked his tail to Graystripe, who put Fernpaw and Snowpaw into a little bout before plodding over to greet Tinystar.

“How are things?” Tinystar asked.

“Well!” Graystripe mewed proudly. “BloodClan is going to tremble in their fur when they see us.”

Tinystar purred. “I have to agree,” he admitted, turning his eyes over the training cats. “Everyone is fighting like a warrior – even the kits.”

As he said so, Sorrelkit and her siblings flew on Sandstorm, burying her in their pelts. Sandstorm’s tail lashed from beneath the kits’ onslaught and Tinystar had to hold back a purr of amusement at the sight. Sandstorm would never let him keep his pelt if he teased her about this – but then again, this was nothing to tease about.

“Excuse me,” Graystripe mewed. “I’ve got to talk to Fernpaw about her claw work.”

Tinystar nodded, letting the gray warrior go. Graystripe walked with a spring in his step he seemed to be lacking, and there was a happy twinkle in his eye. Was that because of being reunited with Silverstream? Tinystar pushed it away – he didn’t want to think about what might happen to his old friend if Silverstream went back to RiverClan at the end of it all.

Sandstorm pulled herself out of the kitten pile, sporting a decent scratch on her spine. She raised her tail to end the fighting.

“No claws, Rainkit!” she ordered.

“Sorry,” the gray tom mewed.

“Why not have claws?” Sorrelkit piped up. “BloodClan isn’t gonna keep their claws sheathed!”

Sandstorm fluffed up her neck fur. “No proper Clan cat trains with claws unsheathed!”

“Dappletail says ShadowClan does,” mewed Sootkit.

“We’re not ShadowClan!” Sandstorm stated firmly. “We’re ThunderClan, and claws are sheathed! When you three are apprentices I’ll pity your mentors!”

“But we want you to be our mentor!” Rainkit squealed.

“Yeah!” Sootkit clamored.

Sorrelkit stood up on her hind paws, swiping at their air with practiced strikes. “You can train all three of us, can’t you?”

Tinystar purred, his whiskers twitching in amusement.

Sandstorm looked up, her tail fluffing as she caught Tinystar’s eye. “Hold a moment, kits,” she meowed to the three bundles. “Tinystar is here.”

“Oh, wow!” Sootkit gasped.

Suddenly Tinystar was surrounded by the kits, all three bouncing up and down around him. Their fur was dusted with sand and their pelts were rumpled but none of them seemed the least bit tired by their training. Sandstorm touched her nose to Tinystar’s in greeting.

Tinystar leaned over his mate and ran his tongue along her scratch. Not deep, but the kits had managed to penetrate her leaf-bare thick fur. Sandstorm purred at the gesture.

“Tinystar! Tinystar!” called Rainkit. “Sandstorm can be our mentor, right?”

“All of us?” Sorrelkit added.

Tinystar looked down at the kits, his whiskers twitching. “She can only mentor one of you,” he said gently. “That way she can put all her energy into her apprentice properly.”

“Well, I want it to be me!” Sorrelkit decided, her tail standing straight up.

“What about me?” Rainkit huffed.

Sootkit fluffed his pelt. “Well, whatever – I want to be Tawnypelt’s apprentice.”

“We can’t be her apprentice!” Rainkit clamored. “She’s our sister!”

“So?” Sootkit’s little tail lashed. “She’s just as good a warrior as Sandstorm!”

Sorrelkit got down on her haunches. “Well, can Tawnypelt do this?” She pounced on her brother, and the two disappeared in a tangle of gray-and-tortoiseshell fur.

Rainkit watched, sighing. “Of course she could,” he muttered. “A pounce? Every cat can pounce…”

“They’re a pawful,” Tinystar decided, watching the tussle.

“You have no idea,” Sandstorm agreed, leaning against him a moment. “But their energy is admirable.”

Tinystar looked up at his mate. He could see the wistfulness in her eyes as she watched the kits practice their battle moves. He rubbed his chin against her shoulder. “If you want one of them as your apprentice, just ask.”

Sandstorm stiffened. “I… I suppose. I’d like Sorrelkit, I think. If things work out.”

Tinystar frowned. Was his mate still worried for Stonepaw? Did she hold out hope her apprentice would return?

But the look Sandstorm gave him was more intense than that. Sandstorm wasn’t worried about one lost apprentice – she was worried about the Clans as a whole. If BloodClan drove them out, the warrior code and the lives they built wouldn’t matter anymore. Mentor and apprentice would disappear, along with everything else.

“We’ll win,” he assured her quietly. “We have to.”

He let Sandstorm go and resume her training with the kits. The three followed after her eagerly, their tails up. They’d be ready for a good long sleep when they went back to the nursery – and when their apprenticeships began Tinystar could see them being some of the best warriors ThunderClan ever had.

Tinystar turned his attention to Swiftfoot and Brightheart. The two crippled warriors were facing Dustpelt – a formidable opponent in his own right. Dustpelt lunged across the sand, closing the distance between himself and Brightheart – but any hopes of tackling the “easier” of the two were dashed as Brightheart leaped back and Swiftfoot took her place.

Dustpelt crashed into Swiftfoot, who used the momentum to wrap his paws around Dustpelt’s neck. With a heave, Swiftfoot shoved Dustpelt’s face into the dust.

“Get off you lump!” Dustpelt hissed. “My mouth is full of sand!”

“Not until you surrender!” Brightheart crowed, her tail twitching.

Dustpelt wriggled more and then sagged. “Fine – fine! I surrender!”

Swiftfoot purred as he released Dustpelt from his grip. Dustpelt got back to his paws, looking dizzy. He shook his head to clear it and then the rest of himself to loosen the sand in his pelt. He looked between the two crippled warriors. “Didn’t see that coming, honestly,” he admitted. “Think you could teach me that?”

“We’ll teach you all,” Brightheart promised. Beside her, Swiftfoot scoffed, rolling his eyes. “There’s no reason we can’t all fight for our Clan.”

Tinystar made his way to Cloudtail’s side. “They’re doing so well,” he praised. “Swiftfoot especially.”

“I don’t know where he comes up with these moves,” Cloudtail admitted, her eyes flashing with admiration. “But they’re always astounding – and Brightheart is clever herself, too!”

Before them the three warriors got back into position for another bout. It wasn’t long before Dustpelt was on his belly again, begging for mercy – this time because of Brightheart’s snakelike movements. Cloudtail puffed out her chest.

Tinystar felt pride, too. All of his Clanmates were so skilled! Though his muscles itched to join in on the training – it felt like moons since he’d used his claws for anything but hunting – he turned to Cloudtail again.

“We should go and see Fiona,” he meowed.

Cloudtail stiffened. Tinystar knew that the previous night had taken a great toll on her emotionally. He was fully prepared for her to refuse – but she was slowly nodding in agreement. “We can’t keep her in the dark,” she murmured. “She needs to know what my father… what Scorch has become.”

Tinystar licked her between the ears. Cloudtail said a quick good-bye to her mates, promising to return swiftly. Then the two were off, their paws on the trail to Twolegplace.

———————————————————-

They traveled in silence through Tallpines and into Twolegplace, reaching Fiona’s nest just after sunhigh. There were plenty of kittypets out and about, lying on their bellies to relish the sunlight before it got too cold to enjoy it. They paid no mind to the two forest cats slinking along the bottoms of their fences.

“We shouldn’t tell her about last night,” Tinystar decided as they reached Fiona’s fence. Her scent clouded the air on the other side. “The rest of it is going to be hard enough as it is.”

“Yeah,” Cloudtail agreed. She gave a powerful leap and balanced on the top of the fence a moment before disappearing over the edge.

Tinystar followed, scrabbling a little to get over. His shorter height always made jumping a bit of a chore. He landed on all four paws in Fiona’s garden in time to see the pure white she-cat greeting her daughter with a purr, the bell on her collar tinkling gently.

“Cloudtail, it feels like seasons since we’ve seen each other!” Fiona fretted. “Don’t be a stranger!”

“Mother…” Cloudtail sighed, wincing as Fiona rasped her tongue along her thick pelt.

Fiona’s ears perked up as Tinystar came into view. “Tinyclaw! There you are – you look so thin! Are you eating properly? The cold must have driven off so much prey…”

Tinystar’s ear flicked at hearing his old name. He coughed awkwardly.

“Mother – he’s Tinystar now. He’s Clan leader!” Cloudtail pointed out.

Fiona’s ear flicked. “Tinystar…?” She tested the name on her tongue, looking slightly cross. “You Clan cats go through names quicker than a kitten shreds a toy, I swear!”

The pretty white she-cat shook her head. Then, she sighed, her big blue eyes sympathetic. “That must mean that Tigerstar has passed? I’m so sorry, Tinystar.”

Tinystar nodded. “He did, yes,” he reported. “Things have been so busy, I’m sorry we haven’t been able to come to give you proper updates.”

Fiona flicked her tail. “Well it’s no wonder – you’re leader now! Doubtless you’ve got many responsibilities! You won’t always be able to make time to visit.” Though the thought clearly made her sad, she put on a brave face. Tinystar felt a prickle of admiration for the kittypet queen, who almost always refuted Clan perceptions of how a kittypet ought to behave.

“I haven’t heard those dogs in a while, either,” Fiona breathed. “They must have moved on.”

In a way, Tinystar thought. He didn’t have time to go through the entire story, so he simply nodded.

“Well then – you’re leader now and everything seems to be all right in the forest, so why do you both look like someone’s trying to chew your hind legs?” Fiona demanded. She looked between her kit and her friend. “What’s happening out there?”

Tinystar swallowed. Cloudtail’s jaws seemed firmly shut, unwilling to tell her mother what was happening. So it fell to Tinystar to tell her everything he was willing to – about Rusty and Scorch, about BloodClan, and about the attack in two dawns’ time.

Fiona let out a wail.

“I knew it!” she cried. “I knew something was going on with him and those nasty cats!” She slumped against Cloudtail. “How could he do this? I kept warning him they were bad news and now…”

“I don’t know.” Tinystar moved to comfort her, resting his tail against her flank. “I don’t think Scorch was ever the cat we thought we knew, Fiona.” Cloudtail murmured her agreement, her eyes pools of sorrow.

“I loved him, Tinystar,” Fiona whimpered. “I loved him so much…”

“I know.”

Fiona let herself shake for a moment longer before she straightened up. She ran a trembling paw along her whiskers to straighten them, as if that would calm her. She looked between Cloudtail and Tinystar.

“Please,” she mewed quietly, “be careful, the both of you. That BloodClan is ruthless and evil and they never stop until they have what they want.”

“We’ll win,” Cloudtail meowed confidently. She butted her head against her mother’s shoulder. “We always do!”

Fiona didn’t look totally reassured – she stared right into Tinystar’s eyes, and the small black tom realized he knew what the kittypet was thinking.

We always seem to make it out… but not without losing cats along the way.

[the-desolated-quill]

Mechocracy - Red Dwarf blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

In the wake of my less than flattering views on Siliconia and Timewave, I’ve actually received a lot of kind messages from people telling me that I was really going to enjoy Mechocracy and that they were really looking forward to my review. Thanks guys! That really means a lot to me :)

So what did I think of Mechocracy? Um... yeah, it was okay. Not great, but it was alright.

Things go off to a really strong start with Rimmer teaching Kryten the art of patience in his own impatient manner, which leads to Kryten delegating the task of mopping B deck to Rimmer as part of the course. I chuckled somewhat at this, but then when they revealed that this was all a massive deception engineered by Kryten in order to master the art of manipulation, I nearly wet myself laughing. Look how far he’s come since the Nova 5!! He did so well! Definitely deserved a round of applause that!

It’s also an excellent way of justifying Rimmer’s behaviour as the episode goes along. Is it me or is Rimmer being just a little bit more malicious than usual? Blackmailing the Cat over his reading glasses. Promoting Lister and then demoting him again whilst using the memory of his gran as an emotional ploy just as a further twist to the knife. This is downright cruel and I would argue takes Rimmer a step too far down the antagonist road, but you could interpret it as being his petty and spiteful revenge for this opening gag. It could also be partly what motivates him to run for Machine President, as a way of getting his own back, and it also makes his ultimate punishment at the end, trapped in the garbage hold with Talkie Toaster, that much more satisfying.

The whole sequence with the SOS virus is great and feels like classic Red Dwarf in a way Series 12 really hasn’t up until now. The lifts, skutters and snack dispensers all get angry that the Dwarfers were just going to leave them to die and decide to go on strike. That is actually a genuinely good idea that you really could develop. It’s funny how Lister has put all his time and energy into getting Kryten to break his programming, but he has never done the same for the snack dispensers or any of the other various machines on Red Dwarf. How come? Is it because, unlike the other machines, Kryten looks vaguely human and therefore it’s easier for Lister to anthropomorphise him? One could argue that it would be impractical for Lister to sit down and give each electrical appliance on the ship the same attention Kryten gets, but don’t the other machines have a right to receive that same quality of care. They all have personalities of their own. They’re all clearly capable of independence. The reason why Lister hasn’t extended his ‘mechanoid development program’ to include the other machines is because he views them as just tools for his benefit. And the fact that none of them look as human as Kryten actually makes it easier for Lister to view them as such.

Also the machines going on strike helps to highlight just how dependant we are on technology and how utterly powerless we’ve become. People fear that one day machines will take over the world, but as Kryten points out, the machines have already taken over. At first it seemed like this episode was really going to delve into the rights of AI and its many implications. Does a snack dispenser have the same rights as Kryten? What about the lift? The skutters? Even Holly? And what would the consequences be if all machines were given equal rights and no longer felt obligated to perform the tasks they were originally programmed to do? Could the ship even function? Unfortunately Doug Naylor never fully capitalises on this brilliant, and some might say long overdue, idea, instead taking the episode in a much more unorthodox direction.

It’s decided that the machines need a President to represent their needs, and Rimmer and Kryten put their names forward for the election. At this point I had to let out a groan. We’re really going to parody the 2016 US election?

I have multiple problems with this. First, one of the things that sets Red Dwarf apart from other sitcoms is its timelessness. Because it’s set far in the future, the show doesn’t get bogged down in pop culture references or other such things that would often horribly date other shows. So while otherwise great sitcoms like Only Fools And Horses and Fawlty Towers are starting to show their age, Red Dwarf remains just as funny and relevant as it did way back in 1988. It’ll be interesting to see how well Mechocracy will stand the test of time, considering it’s based partially on current events, because I’ve got a nasty feeling this episode won’t hold up in 10 or 20 years time.

Second, it’s such a crying shame that Doug Naylor has thrown away a legitimately fascinating idea in favour of a wafer thin satire. Rimmer is clearly supposed to be a figure akin to Donald Trump, who lies constantly and makes false promises in order to appease the voters, but the episode never actually does anything with that. They just make the comparison. In theory this could be a great episode for Kryten, giving him the chance to put all of Lister’s teachings into practice and finally put Rimmer in his place once and for all, but the episode never really explores Kryten’s character. He’s basically there just to not be Rimmer and when he does win at the end, I honestly didn’t feel a single goddamn thing because it never felt like he earned his victory and we never got a sense of just how important the presidency must be to him.

Third, this whole election doesn’t really make sense even in the context of the episode. Why would the machines even consider Rimmer a viable candidate? They all know what he’s like. Surely they must know Rimmer doesn’t give a single shit about them. The fact he callously rejected them in the first half of the episode should have given them a little hint. Then there’s the smear campaigns. Why would the machines care that Kryten looked after a bunch of skeletons on the Nova 5? Why would they care that Rimmer killed the crew of Red Dwarf in the radiation leak? Neither of those incidents really concern them because both negatively impacted humans. The snack dispenser couldn’t care less about a radiation leak, and the skeletons just demonstrate what a caring individual Kryten is and how he’ll go above and beyond to do a good turn for his crew, alive or dead.

Last but not least, Doug Naylor is so fixated on his spoof election that he ends up forgetting arguably the most important characters in this episode. The machines themselves. Considering that a lot of this plot hinges on the rights of machines, it’s funny how none of them seem to get a look in during the second half. All this talk about equal rights and so on, and all they ever come to in the end are a bunch of numbers and statistics. And yes, you could argue that that’s one of the unpleasant results of politics, reducing people to numbers on a spreadsheet, but the point is the episode never addresses that or does anything with that.

It’s such a pity because the thing is I don’t hate Mechocracy. I don’t even dislike it. As I said at the beginning, I thought it was okay. What’s frustrating is that it could have been so much more. There’s a really strong idea at its core that you really could have had fun with. But while the first half is really good, the second half is where the episode just falls apart because Doug Naylor seems more concerned with making shallow allusions to recent events rather than telling an interesting story.