When Lister awoke a second time later that morning, he was so dehydrated that his eyes clicked when he blinked. He felt like absolute death, with breath that would probably take him there if he inhaled too quickly. "Rimmer," he groaned as he stumbled out of the bunkroom and down to the medibay, "I've changed me mind; you can borrow my body again if you like. Just promise you'll keep it at least a week."
He hadn't gotten hungover in ages, but then, you had to be careful with homeopathic wine – the less you drank, the stronger the effect, so while a bottle or two would give you a light buzz, a single shot could clobber even a hearty drinker. Lister had foolishly challenged the Cat to a Junior Angler drinking game, which the Cat promptly lost. Consequently, twenty minutes in, Lister had only taken two shots, while the Cat had lapped up the rest of the bottle. Lister was pretty sure he had passed out on the floor at Barbug's shortly thereafter, and when he staggered to his knees around 4am to begin the long crawl back to bed, the Cat was long gone.
While Kryten was preparing a six-foot fried egg sandwich with extra chili sauce and a full jar of mango chutney, Lister roamed the medibay in desperate hopes of a more potent remedy. There had to be a rehydration compound somewhere, or at least some UltrAspirin. He noticed then that someone had left the positive virus tray out on the table. There had to be one for good health, or vitality. Smeg, even some bravery might be enough to help reduce the nausea. He pawed through the tubes. Charisma, empathy, luck, confidence… His forehead knotted. That's weird. What happened to the confidence virus? Hang on, you don't suppose…
"Good morning, sir, breakfast is ready in the kitchen," Kryten called from the doorway.
"Can't you bring it here, Krytes? I don't think I can make it over there without leaving pieces of its predecessors along the hallway."
"I'm afraid that with the amount of sauce you requested, sir, the bread has no structural integrity, making transportation impossible. You'll need to come eat it in the dining room."
Lister scowled. Three million years into the future, and still, the closest thing the universe had to Scotch-Guarded bread was that time Kryten made a tartan dust ruffle for Talkie Toaster. No wonder the human race had died out without him. "All right, I'll be there in a mo. But here, get a look at this." He waved the empty tube at Kryten and smirked. "I think Rimmer's doped himself with the confidence virus. He's got that exam today, and let me tell ya, the smegger's been totally blasted since 5:30 this morning. Maybe he'll break into that interpretive dance again – I'm gonna get me sarny and go watch. Seeing him thrown out of that exam's exactly what the medicomp ordered; always good for a laugh!"
Lister snickered in anticipation, but when he looked at Kryten, he noticed that the mineral oil had drained from the mechanoid's face, leaving him ashen and distressed. "Oh dear, sir, you really think he's taken the entire tube?" Kryten fretted. "This is very serious!"
Lister shook his head, then winced as the pain surged. "Relax, Kryten, it's just artificial confidence, and he's a hologram anyhow. The only thing it can hurt is his pride, and believe me, once he comes down, I'll pay him back, plus interest, for all the headache he's caused, but – "
"Pardon the interruption, sir, but please, you don't understand! This is no common space cold, and has the potential to cause very severe illness, possibly even death. Dr. Lanstrom's notes indicated that the confidence virus has been known to provoke not only the standard fever attendant to most illnesses, but also extreme hyperthermia, or overheating, as patients may experience feelings of such boundless energy and optimism that they run at extremely high speeds, shout at intense volumes, or engage in other profitless, impractical exhibitions of recklessness that raise temperature and blood pressure, and stress several other vital functions. In Mr. Rimmer's case, not only does he risk the same symptoms as a living human, but his temperature or T-count could rise to such an extent that his light bee malfunctions, or even melts entirely."
Lister shrugged. "It can't be that bad; he seemed fine to me. I mean, he's acting all happy, which is creepy as all get-out, but it's just a 24-hour bug, right? Won't his natural defenses fight it off soon?"
"Even 24 hours is a very long time for Mr. Rimmer's light bee to sustain that level of output, sir. What's more, it's difficult to anticipate how Mr. Rimmer's virtual immune system will cope with a real-life, non-digital attacker. The symptoms could last much longer, possibly for days or even weeks. And perhaps worst of all, sir, in a manic state of sheer confidence, Mr. Rimmer will not be thinking realistically. He already lacks any insight into his own incompetence, but now, he may well experience extreme delusions of grandeur, which could endanger the entire ship."
Lister frowned. "Yeah… now that you mention it, he did say something about trying to upgrade the recyc system later today."
"He's going to try to install a hydroelectric artificial intelligence unit?! But, but sir!" Kryten sputtered, "Mr. Rimmer is neither a qualified recycling service technician nor a plumber with any relevant skills or training! He doesn't even have the mandatory low-sagging trousers! What are we going to do? We have to stop him immediately!"
"Kryten, would you give it a rest already?" Lister pleaded, reaching up to massage his aching temples and glancing around in search of relief. "Rimmer's a hologram, and he's a total gimboid at anything mechanical. What's the worst he could do to the recyc tanks?" He instantly regretted the question.
"Sir, in his hard light form, Mr. Rimmer can do anything that a human could do! And need I remind you that the last time Mr. Rimmer attempted to tackle a mechanical problem on his own, he annihilated himself and 1,167 others in an impressive, if not record-setting, fourteen seconds? Particularly in this state, I would not expect him to have learned from his mistake, and in the main recyc tanks, the damage he could do is quite literally astronomical! He could reverse the purification flow and contaminate all the water, he could jettison the tanks and flood the boiler decks, he could even turn off the artificial gravity and drown everyone on board!"
Kryten's incessant panicking was making Lister's head pound harder than the Kop on a Sunday, and he groaned. "Kryten, this hangover is already trying to kill me; the last thing I want to do is go gallivanting about the recyc tanks trying to babysit a deranged Rimmer. I'm beggin' ya, can't we just deactivate him remotely, like when he had that other virus?"
"An apt suggestion, sir, but there are two core problems. First, Mr. Rimmer has been self-sustaining ever since Mr. Legion enabled hard light on his projection bee. He is no longer routed through the ship's interface, so I'm afraid it isn't possible to simply turn him off. Second, even if we could disable Mr. Rimmer, we still don't know how a real-life virus can affect a hologram or its light bee, and the risks could be substantial. Turning off Mr. Rimmer's bee in the middle of an infection could, for instance, cause the virus to permanently embed itself in Mr. Rimmer's coding!" Kryten waddled over to a tray on the other side of the medibay, and retrieved a hypospray and a small tube of liquid. "I can administer some tri-energy compound for the hangover, but then I really must insist we take action!"
"All right, Kryten, fine, just gimme the shot first." Lister rolled his eyes and pulled his locks to the right as Kryten prepared the spray, and he winced as the cold aerosol penetrated his neck. "But if we can't turn him off, what exactly are we going to do when we find him? Trap him? Tackle him? Tell him knock-knock jokes until he spasms?" He rubbed the injection spot absently, and felt the pain and fog in his head rapidly begin to clear. He glanced back at the virus tray and picked one up. "Actually, couldn't we just try to knock the confidence out with a second positive virus? There's one for self-control, right?"
"Yes sir, there is a strain known as temporare sibi, which promotes feelings of discipline, focus, and modesty. In fact, it is the lavender one to your left, sir. But I must caution that such an approach could be extremely hazardous to Mr. Rimmer's health. Positive or not, these are still infectious foreign bodies which can harm or even kill their host, particularly if the subject is already weakened. For all we know, Mr. Rimmer's defenses could be losing the battle against the confidence virus already, and infecting him with a second one, even a counteractive one, could well push him over the edge. I would recommend a sedative instead, sir."
"You mean knock him out? We can't exactly chloroform a guy who doesn't need to breathe, ya know."
"No, but just as Mr. Rimmer was able to ingest the virus, so long as he remains in hard light form, he can be injected with a compound and should be susceptible to the effects," Kryten explained as he rummaged through the supply cabinet. He paused, and a look of concern flashed across his face. "How curious, I could have sworn to Silicon Heaven that Starbug carried more, but somehow we have only one vial of Dopium! It's a powerful muscle relaxant and sedative that – "
"I know what it does, Kryten," Lister said quickly, glancing away and then awkwardly clearing his throat. "All right, let's split up. I'll check the recyc tank deck and go lock up the tanks; you take the hypo and go wait by his exam. A dollarpound says Rimmer gets the space-bum's rush in the next ten minutes. Whatever you do, don't let him touch me sarny; I'm coming back for it."
Kryten nodded, and as he loaded the hypospray with the sedative, Lister picked up the self-control virus and slipped it into an inner pocket under his jacket.
"Sir, what are you doing?" Kryten asked. "I just explained - "
"It's not for Rimmer, Kryten, it's for me. Otherwise, if I have to spend even five more minutes with that smeghead, I can't promise I won't strangle him."