~?~
~We have been interfered with, loves.~
~How? How how howhowhowhoooooow?~
~Those filthy pieces of genetic waste. Remember their taste? Remember how they stung our throats as we stung their bodies?~
~Garbage! Putrid garbage!~
~Gather, my children. We strike the rubbish soon to get back what is ours...~
The Starbug rocked with the blast of the GELF cannon. Sparks flew from consoles, soft bodies (and one large, bulky, hard one) jolted and jerked around, still subject to the laws of Newton and his silly force equals mass times acceleration idea. Primitive, really, if you think about it.
The GELF were aiming for the main propulsion system, but it was pure serendipity that they took out the secondary life support system as well. Why, they even managed to knock Rimmer unconscious. So, in all, a good day's work for them.
Satisfied that they had the human they wanted, they gave The Starbug and its inhabitants the V sign (not that anyone saw it, but it's the thought that counts,) and went on their smelly way. Their ship gained momentum, until it was a single, tiny, bright spot among many other tiny, bright spots.
Grrr-aaackkc-kkkhhh-aa had a long delayed wedding night winging to her through the void.
Alarms are alarming. They grate on the nerves and eardrums, making everybody in earshot wish that they were as far, far away from the noise as possible. Humans are silly that way. Even more so, because when an alarm goes off, usually the last thing they do is shut it up. First they deal with whatever emergency caused the alarm to go off in the first place, and badly, due to all the racket. Who can concentrate in that din, anyway?
Alarms on spaceships are even worse, due to the constant knowledge that, when it reaches the alarm phase of emergency, it's usually to late to do anything else but say a Hail Mary and hope the coroner isn't offended by stained under garments.
The Cat, having almost no knowledge of how emergencies are conducted by humans, did the only thing he knew. He reached up from the floor, groped around on the control panel, and hit the override switch for the alarm.
The human crew groaned, sore and contused, but alive. Kryten was flat on his back in the doorway to the cockpit, waving his arms and legs. He couldn't get up, much like a turtle can't get up when it's on its back. Turtles, on the other hand, had better shaped heads than Kryten did. Kochanski was face down on her console, disheveled, and not in a pretty, model way, either. A slight trickle of blood wended its way down her forehead. Lister was slumped down in his chair, with a couple of nasty burns on his borrowed face and soot marks on his entire borrowed body. Rimmer was, as mentioned before, unconscious, lolling across the left arm of his chair, looking like a rag doll. The Cat, meanwhile, was keening softly to himself from the floor, tenderly nursing an unrepairable tear across the pleat of his black linen trousers.
"Krissy?"
"Ow."
"Cat?"
"Leave me alone, dog food breath. I'm in mourning!"
"Kryten?"
"Stuh-stuh-stuh-stuh-uck-uck-uck..."
"Rimmer? Rimmer?"
"He's out cold, Dave. He's breathing, though."
"What the smeg just happened?"
"We were shot, Dave," said Kochanski, propping herself up on an elbow, and wincing with the pain. "Report, please." She wiped the blood off her forehead with her sleeve and peered down at her charred console.
Lister turned to his own console, finding it totally shattered. So that's how the Plexiglas got into his hand. Picking out the larger pieces, he replied, "Can't. No screen. Cat?"
"The stabilizer is gone, kerblam! The drive system is gone, kablooie! And life support is on emergency time, kerplunk!"
"Did we really need the sound effects, Cat?"
"Stuh-stuh-stuh-stuh-uck-uck-uck..."
"Oh for smeg's sake." Lister stood on wobbling legs and crossed to Kryten, pushing the 'droid onto his side so he could right himself.
After he had done so, Kryten slowly lumbered over to Rimmer's station, scooping up the prone second tech. "I'll take Mr. Rimmer to the medi-bay."
"We all need to go to the medi-bay, but now's not the time. Put him in the galley, we'll take care of him later."
"But ma'am...!"
"Kryten, please! We need to get the life support back up, or we're all dead. And, I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be."
"Well, far be it from me to contradict you, but..."
"Kryts!" Lister snapped. "Either switch heads and help us, or shut up and help us!"
"Yes, Mr. Lister, sir."
"Yes Mr. Lister sir," squeaked Lister, mocking Kryten. "Kryten, you're reverting, aren't you? Knock it the smeg off, before we all axphyxiate."
"I can't axphyxiate! I don't even know how to axfix!" moaned The Cat.
All bickering aside, (which took a good half an hour) the crew soon discovered the enormity of their predicament. Not only were all the major systems damaged, but most of the tools were somewhere in deep space, having been left outside with Hippolyta when the disaster struck. They managed, somehow, to jerry rig the life support systems, on a wing and prayer. They had a guaranteed 72 hours of fresh air, which would, hopefully, be used to get some of that ice off the asteroid. Somehow. If they could even get the landing struts to extend. The trip to the medibay would have to be postponed while they hauled water. If they worked quickly, they would have a hope of survival. Otherwise... well, then it was time to root out any atheistic tendencies and hope that Heaven had lowered their entrance standards.
Rimmer, meanwhile, was still unconscious in the galley. And he was having the nicest dream...
Io had been a lush garden moon, once the necessary terra forming had been done and a cold sink had been installed. (A cold sink was much like a heat sink, only working backwards. Central air had nothing on a good cold sink.) Spending his childhood on Io was a blessing for Rimmer, aside from the terrible accident of his family. Io was rather of a swanky suburb of Ganymede, with all the charm and piquantness of any gated community. Trees were plotted, and their holograms were perfect down to the tiniest detail. Even the robotic birds sang in perfect pitch. Oh, sure, real birds might have been better, but they didn't sing Mozart. Besides, with robot avians, air-cars rarely needed to be washed.
Io had been planned, you see. Not at all like those other messy, disorganized cities back on Earth and Mars. Why, those cities didn't even have proper, timed rainbows! They had to have rain first! How wasteful and utterly unnecessary. So the Founding Mothers of Io had plotted the colony down to the last speck of dust on the last windowsill. Not that there was any dust, mind you. But if there had been dust, it would have been planned to be there. Io was Martha Stewart's wet dream.
Rimmer had not been back to Io since he was seventeen, when he was asked to leave. Oh, not by his parents. He'd divorced them three years before and hadn't been in touch with them since, really. No, the Mayor of Io herself had called him into her office, and requested formally for the removal of his loathsome self. He didn't fit the mold, you see. He was tall, yes, like all other boys on Io. But it was a rolled out, lanky tallness, totally unlike the healthy, muscular tallness of the other boys his age. He wasn't remotely handsome. His jaw wasn't square, nor were his eyes clear, nor was his hair properly blond and wavy. You understand, don't you, young Arnold? We have an image to uphold here. And you're not it.
Of course Rimmer understood. He'd long felt that he didn't belong in this community, and it was with a sense of duty bound pride that he packed his belongings and left to join the JMC. It had to be pride, didn't it? Otherwise why would he feel so damn relieved to get away from those interfering old biddies that ran things, with their tea cozies and their yipping lap dogs and their mothball smelling clothes? That hot feeling behind his eyes and at his collarbone had to be pride. To call it rank humiliation would be giving in to what they wanted.
Yet here he was, casually strolling up the streets of his childhood, his hands in his pockets, whistling a merry tune. Children all around him played hopscotch, and leap frog, and Dance Dance Revolution. The robotic birds played Beethoven's Pastoral when he passed. The 11 o'clock rainbow was shaping up to be the best of the day. Even the air-cars hummed on tune.
Practically skipping, he tousled the hair of a nearby, adorable little blonde girl (who chirped, "Good morning, Mr. Rimmer!" She could have been in a milk commercial.) and joyfully bounded up the stairs to his mother's house.
Knocking boisterously, Rimmer rocked back and forth on his heels while he waited for an answer. He heard a cheerful voice singsong, "Com-ing!" from behind the door, and when it opened, there was his mother. Years younger than he remembered her, with twinkling eyes and flour dusted hands.
"Arnie! My dear sweet baby boy! How are you? Come in, let your mother look at you! I've got sugar cookies going, and there's a turkey sandwich on your name on."
"Hullo, mum. I'm back from my stint in the corp." The unnatural chipperness was sort of starting to wear a bit thin. Not to mention that he knew his mother couldn't bake, and the only time she made sandwiches, they were invariably cow tongue.
"Oh, so young and an admiral already." Rimmer squirmed slightly at her glance. He'd told her about his "promotions," all of which were totally false. He felt a moment of shame, which he quickly suppressed.
"Yes, well. I've retired."
"Oh. Over nothing bad, I hope."
"Oh, no no no! Nothing but mutual good feeling all around. I just... uh. I'm. Er. I'm getting married, you see."
Instead of the gleeful well wishes he somehow expected, his mother's eyes narrowed. "I see. Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose. When is the baby due?"
"Baby?" exclaimed Rimmer. "What baby?"
"The only kind of girl who'd marry you without meeting your mother first is obviously one of those girls." She did not elaborate as to what sort other things those girls would actually do.
"Mum!"
"No, it's all right, Arnie," she sighed, sounding extremely put upon and long suffering. (All mothers do this.) "I could use another grandchild, I guess. So what is your fiancee's name?"
"It's..." Rimmer stopped here, and bit his lower lip. "I... can't seem to remember." He knew she was pretty, but for some reason he couldn't remember any other relevant detail. Like her name, or what she really looked like.
"Oh. Then it can't be that important. Never you mind about her, Arnie. Forget about this marriage nonsense and come live with me. I'll make up for all the times I was mean and horrible to you, I promise." She turned and picked something out of a bowl sitting near the door. "Boiled sweet?"
"Yes, it is," he answered distractedly. "Mum, I don't think you understand. I'm getting married!"
"Oh, tosh. Arnie. No, you're staying right here with me and going back to school tomorrow."
"School?!"
"Of course, dear. All good eight year old boys go to school and don't get married until they're well grown."
"I'm not eight years old! I'm a retired JMC admiral!"
"Certainly you are, dear. Now be a good boy, eat all of your broccoli and go make your bed." With this she turned and tottered, humming, back to the kitchen.
"She's cracked," said Rimmer quietly to himself. Then he added, "Couldn't happen to a more deserving old bitch."
He turned and left his house, feeling deeply disappointed. Of course, she'd been nicer to him now than she'd ever been in his life. For a moment, he wanted to turn around, go back inside and eat the broccoli. But he somehow knew that, if he did this, he'd never leave, and this girl he was to marry would be gone forever. If he could even remember her name. Sitting dejectedly on the steps, his chin cupped in his hands, he racked his brains for some detail of this mystery woman.
"What's the matter, Mr. Rimmer?" It was the young blonde child he'd tousled the hair of a few moments ago. She was standing over him, her head tilted, looking curiously at him.
"I've forgotten something very important," he answered.
"Did you try writing it down? I can write. I know all the letters!"
He smiled indulgently at her. "I bet you do. But no, I didn't write it down."
"When I forget things, I put a string round my finger. Turns it purple so I don't forget how much it hurts." She laughed at this last. "But you better stop moping soon, or you'll get a ticket."
"A ticket?"
"The Pouting Police will write you a big red ticket, and then you'll have to leave."
Rimmer remembered the Pouting Police. He also remembered the Grumpy Gestapo and the Mopey M-5. These were the adults who, when seeing a child with less than rosy cheeks and imperfect smiles, would have a sharp word or sixty with the offending child's parents. His parents had had quite a few visits from these people over the years, and every single call was about him. He'd come up with those titles himself for these interfering nosy parkers, and had tried to get his brothers to pick it up with him. They'd told him that he was quite insane and stupid, then dumped him upside down in the rubbish bins.
"That would be bad. But maybe I want to leave."
The girl giggled. "Why would you want to leave here? Everybody's handsome and nice and pretty and we're all so very smart. Well, except you."
Rimmer started, his mouth hanging open in annoyance. "Hey!"
"Oh, no offense, Mr. Rimmer," chirped the girl carelessly. "It's just that you're so... weird. Well, gotta go. See ya!" She skipped away, leaving Rimmer alone.
"Nice kid. They grow 'em all like that around here?" said a new, feminine voice. Rimmer looked up, but didn't see anybody near by.
"Yeah. All a bunch of precocious snots." He didn't think it odd that he was talking to a disembodied voice.
"Except for you."
Rimmer brayed, a morose chuckle. "Of course except for me. I was their butt. Their scapegoat. The shallow end of the gene pool. And it fit me so well that I just kept it up my whole life." This last sentence came out in a bitter wail.
"You poor bastard. I was a scapegoat, too, you know."
"Really? You don't sound to thrilled about it either." He was craning his neck now, trying to figure out where this person was that he was speaking to. "Where are you? I'd like a face to put to the voice. Rude to have a conversation without even knowing what you look like."
"Oh, yes, you're a paragon of good manners, Rimmer." The voice dripped sarcasm. "Fine. Here." At this, a woman appeared from behind a nearby hologram tree. She was petite, no taller than a child, really, but had the proportions of a fully grown woman. Her hair was long and black, and she had a distinct epicanthic fold. Chinese. Or maybe Korean, thought Rimmer. She was dressed in what first appeared to be silk, but he swore it kept changing to rags, and then back to silk again.
"You're a strange man, Rimmer. Why do you insist on seeing things that aren't really there?"
"Are you not really here?"
"Wrong question. I'm Bai."
"Oh. Well, I'm sure your mother is thrilled."
She rolled her eyes and gave Rimmer a quick cuff across the back of his head. "Not BI, you idiot. B. A. I. Bai. It means pure. Whereas Rimmer means crude sexual act."
"Hey!"
"Oh, excuse me. Would you prefer Strong as an Eagle?"
"What?"
"You're sad. Don't even know the meaning of your name. Of course, eagles are filthy birds. Scavengers, eaters of rotting flesh. Which is why America chose it as her national symbol."
This was too much for Rimmer. "Look, if you're just here to insult me, then pick on some other topic. I couldn't give a smeg about a country 3 million years from here."
She laughed. "Very well. If you want to be that way... Where's the girl in the wrong body, and what is her name?"
Rimmer puzzled this out for a bit, thinking maybe that this was some sort of riddle. "I don't know, who?" he answered finally.
This seemed to annoy his new companion. "Damn it. This is dreaming. I'd forgotten about it." Rimmer wondered how anybody could forget about dreaming. "Look, concentrate. Think about the woman you," she shuddered here for a moment, and managed to grind out, "love. You need to lead me to her, so I can get her back!"
Rimmer stood up. "Back? You mean she's gone? Oh, God, Hippolyta!"
As soon as the name crossed his lips, he felt like he was being bound by a thousand million tiny threads, seeking out every cell in his body, to tie it down. He struggled for a moment, then just let go, letting the... things... tie him. He felt his mind spinning through an airless void, and tried to draw in breath. The things tying him down supplied him air, and heat, and he spun through space, faster than light, and was suddenly floating just outside a porthole on the GELF ship.
"There. We have her. She's about twenty thousand kilometers from where you are now. So here's what you do, Rimmer. Wake up, go to the navigational console, and in this order," the buttons he must push were suddenly embedded in his mind, "enter these coordinates." The numbers were suddenly there too. "If anybody tries to stop you, don't worry about them. We'll deal with it." And with that, he was back on the steps of his mother's house.
"What about Kryten?" Rimmer could scarcely believe he was saying this. He knew exactly what this Bai planned to do to the rest of the crew, and he was, somehow, agreeing with it!
"Hit him here," and a spot on Kryten's body was implanted in his mind. "That's his emergency shut off switch. Then, get to that GELF ship."
"Yes." This was why Rimmer stopped resisting. He was going to rescue Hippolyta, and the consequences be damned!
Rimmer came to staring at the ceiling of the galley. Kryten had laid him out on the table, and gone back to his duties. The rest of the crew was not in his immediate line of vision, so he swung himself off the table to go do as he had been instructed.
Upon reaching the cockpit, he saw that the view screen was on, showing the pitted surface of the asteroid. Starbug had, miraculously, touched down on the thing, and he could make out the crew, in full suited gear, toiling away with shovels and rakes and other implements of destruction. Gathering water for the ship. He was about to enter the coordinates of his instructions, when a small voice in the back of his head told him to call his comrades aboard first. Otherwise, they were sure to die when their air ran out. But his instructions were clear... But he couldn't just leave them!
~Fine! Call them aboard first! Just do it quickly!~
"What's going on?" he asked into the radio. Even to him, his voice sounded unnatural and tinny. But he had the radio to cover for this oddity, fortunately.
"Rimmer! Welcome back to the world of the living. Sorry to ditch you like that, we had to get a move on." Lister, or a figure who he presumed was Lister, paused in his work and waved cheerfully at the view screen. "Keep an eye on us, will ya? We've got an hour of air left still."
"No, I think you'd better come in now."
"Why? Something on the navicomp?"
"N... Yes. Yes, something on the navicomp. Big trouble. Get back inside." He had started to say no, but found his vocal chords overridden by his unseen passenger, Bai.
"What is it, Rimmer?" This was Kochanski, gathering up her tools and coiling up an ice hose around her arm, while the others were already space sprinting to the 'Bug.
"Big trouble," he repeated. "Get back inside."
"You ok, Rimmer? You sound weird." Kochanski hesitated, falling behind the group a bit.
"Get inzzzzide or I'll leave you," buzzed Rimmer, now totally out of control of the situation.
"Whoa! Steady on, man!" Now Lister stopped running too, craning his helmeted face up to the general direction of the cockpit. Even The Cat and Kryten had slowed in their lolloping gait toward the ship.
~This is too slow! Shove over!~
Rimmer could feel a strange power building up behind his sinuses. He glanced at the tiny, struggling, slow figures outside the ship, and then... He felt a hand, or actually a fist, reach out from his body, and he grabbed all four of in a split second, like a compulsive gambler grabs the dice off a craps table. And, in that same second, all four of his crew mates were in the port side bathroom. He dumped them there, carelessly, not caring about landing positions. As an afterthought, he locked the door from the outside, using that same controlled fist.
For years afterward, Rimmer would think back on that split second, and sigh. All that power, his...
But at the moment, using that (weird, uncanny) power was somehow second nature to him. Done with almost no thought.
~Now you are truly Strong as an Eagle. Do as you're told!~
His fingers flew across the console, as he entered the coordinates of the GELF ship's current position. Somehow, in all of this, he managed to know exactly where they were, even as they moved away at five thousand kilometers an hour.
He could feel the shuddering groan of metal fatigue as the 'Bug lifted off the surface of the asteroid. Using his fist again, he searched out and found the weaknesses in the shell, held them together with his will alone. Why, the fist was even mending the breaches, fusing the metal together more efficiently than a welder ever could. The drive system bent to his wishes, flowing back together like water. And then the ship moved. Like it was shot out of a cannon.
He was a knight in shining armor, off to rescue his damsel. Nothing could stop him.
~Hippolyta, we're coming!~
"Look, I'm not Lister!"
"Grraaccck-ptooie-cchhhk-arrgh."
"Aw, shit."
Hippolyta hadn't been able to move a muscle since being brought on board the GELF ship. They weren't taking any chances. Even though the only place she could go would be into the inky blackness of space, they didn't release her from her invisible bonds.
"Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but honestly, I'm not Lister! I'm... uh... somebody else who looks like him. So whatever horrible and nasty things you were planning to do to him, and I'm sure he totally deserves it and good onya and I'll cheer you on when it happens, just don't do them to me!"
"HHHYou... Lihhhghster."
Hippolyta blinked. "Did you just speak English?"
"Hhhhhyes. Iiihh am speh-cker. I speck."
"Well done," said Hippolyta, weakly. "You've gone positively native. Ok. Tell your friends here that I'm not Lister, and then we'll forget this whole thing ever happened. Sound good?"
"Sshhhoundg like hlie."
"No no! It's not a lie! Go ahead, ask me anything that Lister would know. I promise I'll stun you with my complete lack of knowledge."
"HHHHyou har grroom. We hhaf brride. Hend huf dissssckussion."
With that, her smelly interpreter turned back to his comrades and spoke in a string of spittle-strewn GELFish. When he was done, he pointed a forefinger at his temple and made little circles. The rest of the GELFs laughed uproariously.
I swear to God, when I get out of this, Lister is getting the spork treatment. It'll be a blunt, rusty spork too. And if I can't get the plastic to rust, I'll dip it in the urine recyke first! Hippolyta thought to herself, trying to wiggle her way out of the personal tractor beam she was in. It didn't do any good this time either. She knew it wasn't going to do her a damn bit of good, but, as a human being, she had to keep trying. Humans were funny that way. Put them in a situation where the odds are firmly stacked against them, and they will continue to try. Even the most rank pessimist had this genetic stubborn streak. The only other option was despair.
After a few futile moments of pointless wriggling, Hippolyta relaxed and slumped into her constraints. A gurgle in her borrowed guts reminded her that she'd not eaten for several hours. Or was it days? She couldn't remember. Maybe a light snack after the leak in the 'Bug had been discovered. Something like that, anyway. Well, it couldn't hurt to ask. If she understood her captors correctly, they were going to want her in good health for her... ick... wedding. She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself from vomiting at the thought of marriage duties with a GELF.
"Uh, is there a chance of dinner, guys?"
The GELF glanced at her, then back at the translator. The translator grunted at a pot steaming in the corner, and then laughed.
The next thing Hippolyta knew, she had a bowl of something steaming and smelling of boiled socks shoved under her nose. She started to say. "Oh my God, what is that?" That was her mistake. As soon as she opened her mouth, the GELF holding the bowl shoved a spoonful of the wretched glop into her face. If it was at all possible, the stuff tasted worse than it smelled. There was a whiff of cat urine, a subtle hint of rotten eggs, with a piquant wet dog aftertaste.
When she started vomiting, the GELF laughed and laughed and laughed.
Moaning in the aftermath of her sick, she curled her lip and spat at the translator. She scored a direct hit, right between the eyes. Instant silence. The translator did not take kindly to this treatment, and immediately shoved the rest of the bowl right in her face. Then, just as a reminder for politeness' sake, he gave her a fat lip and a black eye with a casual punch.
"Bhee nicesh. Whore nho mhore fhoode."
Seeing stars, reeling from the pain, Hippolyta just nodded, then passed out. Which really was a shame, as she missed a faint voice echoing in her head, a voice she knew and loved, a voice which said, ~Hippolyta, we're coming!~
Lister came to staring at the ceiling of the bathroom, with a terrible pulling sensation at the base of his scalp, and he was quite chilly. Something was very wrong here. The last thing he remembered was arguing with Rimmer about something. Something important. Something about Rimmer leaving them all behind. But that was ridiculous. Rimmer wouldn't do that, would he...?
Of course he would. This was Rimmer he was thinking of. If leaving everybody behind would put a pennycent in his pocket, Rimmer would be off like a shot.
Lister tried to sit up, and regretted it instantly. He was jerked down immediately onto his back again, with a burning fire starting at his neck and moving to his eyebrows. He felt like somebody had tried to remove his hair using a weed whacker. Or a blender. The pain was incredible. He moaned loudly, waiting for the skin of his forehead to regain its elasticity. He swiveled his eyes to the left, and saw part of Kryten's leg on the floor. To the right was the Cat's face, but the Cat was still unconscious. Kochanski wasn't in his line of sight.
What the smeg just happened? he wondered. He spoke up, saying, "Krissy? Are you there?"
"'M here, Dave. You ok?"
"I can't move."
Kochanski crawled on her hands and knees over to Lister. He could only see her face in his line of vision, but she appeared to be rather uncomfortable as well. Upon seeing him, she gasped.
"What? What is it? Is something the matter with me?"
"You could say that. Your hair is... uh... melted to the deck."
She was actually wrong. Lister's borrowed hair was actually in the deck. That's the problem with teleportation. You move matter through matter, sometimes you can screw it up.
"Oh smeg," Lister moaned. "Krissy, what am I gonna do?"
"Easy. Wait here." Kochanski's face vanished, and he heard her rummaging through a drawer. She reappeared a moment later. "Now hold still. Don't want to cut your ear off."
Lister saw her scuttle naked around to the top of his head, then heard the unmistakable sound of scissors snipping through hair. A moment later, he could move, sit up. Hippolyta's going to go spare! thought Lister, as he finally figured out what Kochanski had done.
He moved his hand up, and felt an uneven, ragged haircut. The front portion of his hair was longer than the back, and swung down to cover his face. Kochanski had butchered it! Eyes wide, he said, "If you leave her hair like this, I'm telling her to kill you first."
"Yes, well, first we have to get her back. And I lay long odds against that happening," Kochanski said grimly, tapping the nail scissors against the flat of her palm.
"Oh, Krissy, you really think that? Rimmer would... hey, hold on! What the smeg happened out there? One minute we're outside, in our space suits, and the next we're in here, without them!" Lister hadn't connected this dot until just now. Something else was odd too, but the repeated sight of Kochanki naked had somehow numbed him to it.
"That's not all we're missing. Hippolyta's got a nice body, for a woman." Kochanski was still frowning, and Lister finally noticed she wasn't wearing a stitch. Nor was he. Nor was...
Oops. Yeah, even the Cat was naked. Lister scooted quickly to the shower, grabbed a towel and tossed it toward Kochanski. "Cover up!" The next towel he wrapped around himself like a sarong, then realized his mistake and hiked it up to cover his borrowed tits. Finally, he tossed the third towel over the Cat, averting his eyes from the long, lean form, but not before he got quite an eyeful.
"Holy smeg," he whispered. "Kochanski, I'm feeling very inadequate at the moment."
"Well, right now you're in no position to compare. Hell, I'm feeling inadequate myself. What size cup do you think she wears?"
Lister shrugged. "Dunnow, but right now I'd kill for a sports bra."
Kochanski snorted, and tried to stand up. Wearing nothing but a towel, she looked rather charming, but Lister could see the goose bumps on her skin. She moved to the door, and found it...
"Locked. Thought so. Lister, something has happened to Rimmer. And we're prisoners in here."
"Smeg. What the hell...?"
"Didn't you hear his voice? Something is very wrong with him. How he got us in here, naked, with your hair melted to the deck... This is creepy, Lister."
Lister looked down at the floor, biting his lower lip. "Well, until he lets us out, we gotta keep warm."
"That's easy." Kochanki turned to the shower and turned the hot water on full blast. Steam quickly filled the room. "Our very own sauna."
"That can't be good for Kryten, Krissy."
Kochanski seemed to ponder this for a moment, then smiled. "Good."
Author's Note: For those of you wondering about Bai's anti-American speech; Those are not my opinions. I grant that they may be others. Hell, Ben Franklin wanted our national bird to be the wild turkey, saying much the same thing as Bai, although for vastly different reasons.
Anyway. Just a quick disclaimer. Next chapter due soon.
TO BE CONTINUED...
