"Batman?" Lister's face corkscrewed as he stared at Kryten on a wall-mounted monitor screen in the tank deck, unable and unwilling to believe his ears. "What d'ya mean you saw Batman, Kryten? You're not makin' sense; have you blown a head fuse? Where are you, and what the smeg's going on?"

"I'm sorry, sir!" Kryten blubbered. "As I was heading towards the exam room, Mr. Rimmer sprinted past me and went into the changing room near the mini-gym! When I caught up to him, he had broken into the late Mr. Ackerman's locker, and was wearing a…a… oh, it's too horrible!"

Lister would have given anything to be able to reach through the screen and shake the bawling mechanoid. "Don't dance around it, Kryten," he shouted, "if Rimmer's on the loose and totally wacko, we haven't got time! Pull yourself together, man! What are you trying to tell me?"

"Of course you're right, sir. Very well, blunt mode." There was a brief chirrup from Kryten's diodes as his voice and expression both calmed. "Sir, last month, you insisted I join you in a screening of a reprehensible film entitled, 'Infinite Batman: The Revengening'. Having endured all four-and-a-half hours of that monstrosity, I am more than qualified to offer the opinion that Mr. Rimmer is currently dressed in a fluorescent green Batman suit, complete with a horned mask and a rather eye-strainingly bright cape. Now I'm not one to speculate on these matters, sir, but I frankly can't understand why such a hideous garment should even exist! Reflective, chartreuse spandex is not only an egregious violation of the dress code for personnel of any rank in the Jupiter Mining Corporation, but I think you'll agree that as a tactical matter, it is also a highly inappropriate choice of attire for Mr. Batman or even Mr. Robin as well. Why Mr. Rimmer would seek out this attire, or even why Mr. Ackerman would have owned such a useless outfit, entirely escapes me!"

"Enough, Kryten, never mind it!" Lister finally managed to spit out, shaking his head vigorously in a futile effort to repress the thought of Rimmer prancing about in a used neon catsuit. "The point is, Rimmer's clearly gone off the deep end, and we've got to stop him before he, well, gets into the actual deep end! You've got to get down here to the tanks; he's bound to show up soon and I haven't got anything that can stop him. And if he really is dressed like that, I'm beggin' you, man, don't make me tackle him!"

"No indeed, sir; in fact, I'm afraid that's no longer plausible."

"Eh? What do you mean 'no longer plausible'? Did his light bee snap; has he gone soft light or something?"

"Not quite, sir, but along vaguely similar lines. I'm afraid that Mr. Rimmer fled from the locker room on seeing me, and by the time I caught up with him, he was already in the kitchen."

"What, like for a snack? So what?" Lister's eyes suddenly grew wide, and his voice dropped. "He didn't eat me sarny, did he?"

"No, sir," Kryten said, and Lister sighed in relief, only to immediately tense back up as Kryten continued. "For reasons that are unfathomable to anyone beyond Mr. Rimmer, he went to the cupboard, removed several bottles of Caesar salad cream, and proceeded to apply the contents to his body in a way that a less utterly insane person might apply sun cream. I believe Mr. Rimmer was hallucinating, as he was shouting something about the oil helping him move faster than a Mr. Flash. He then fled out the back corridor, but I don't know which direction he headed."

Lister stared uncomprehendingly. After a long pause, he dropped his head in his hands. "Kryten," he asked slowly, his voice muffled and strained, "are you trying to tell me that we're three million years into deep space, and we have a psychotic, indestructible, greased hologram on a rampage in this ship?"

"Yes, sir." Kryten said as Lister nodded, rubbed his eyes, and looked up blearily. "What's worse," Kryten continued, "the oil will further restrict Mr. Rimmer's ability to release heat, worsening his delirium and perhaps halving or even quartering the time we have left before he reaches a critical fever. With all due respect, sir, I told you that salad cream should go in the refrigerator! At least then it might have helped cool Mr. Rimmer down and bought us some extra time!"

Lister glared at the mechanoid in disbelief. "Yes, Kryten, I suppose I should have seen this coming, seeing as how Rimmer routinely enjoys bathing in condiments!" He snapped. "Happens all the time, doesn't it? That's our Rimmer, can't leave him alone with the barbecue sauce! Yes, this was downright predictable! And before ya try to blame me for this, we wouldn't even have salad cream on board if ya didn't make me eat those smegging greens twice a year! I told ya they did more harm than good, didn't I?!"

Kryten dropped his head, embarrassed. "Blunt mode cancel. Of course you're right, sir. I apologize for the outburst; I hope you can forgive me." Lister's anger instantly dissolved, and he sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry too, man. It's not your fault Rimmer's gone nuts. We just have to keep it together long enough to find him and get him under control, all right? Come on, just get down here to the tanks."

Suddenly, a pink and black blur slammed into Kryten, knocking the mechanoid over to the right, and his face was replaced erratically on the screen with the Cat's, who was twisting and zigzagging with his nose in the air. "Fish!" he shouted ecstatically into the camera as he rapidly moved in and out of frame. "I smell fish! This is not a drill; we got fish coming in on both nostrils, aow yeah!" Lister could hear Kryten's muffled cries from the floor as the Cat danced around on his back panels.

"Cat! Get the smeg off of Kryten, and get out of the way! There's no fish here!" Lister shouted, but the Cat didn't hear, didn't care, or both, continuing to screech and gyrate. Lister's heart began to sink. Oh smeg, was Rimmer's virus contagious? Was he next? What was he going to do? But just as Lister was beginning to panic, Kryten managed to wriggle out from under the Cat, and struggled to his feet.

"He may be smelling the anchovies in Mr. Rimmer's salad cream, sir," Kryten grunted as he dusted himself off and forced his various panels back into place. "If so, maybe he can lead us to Mr. Rimmer!"

"Of course! Cat, can you track the smell? Go with Kryten, go find the fish! I'll even let you keep whatever you catch, alright? Just go find it, quick!"

The Cat shrieked with joy, and began sniffing frantically, but instead of moving down the corridor, he spun around repeatedly, trying to pinpoint the aroma. "I don't understand, it – hey wait, it's getting stronger!" He shouted in gleeful surprise. "The fish is getting closer! I think it's coming this way!"

Sure enough, half a second later, a slippery, neon-green shiny thing shot past the camera and down the corridor, squishing and sliding with every step and jabbering nonsensically. The Cat's eyes almost exploded out of his skull, and he let out a loud whoop. Lister could see every hair on the Cat's body began to quiver, and as the feline vibrated faster and faster, he sank to all fours and slowly dropped below the screen, preparing to pounce just as Kryten was priming the sedative.

"Cat, wait!" Lister yelled. But it was too late, and with an explosion of movement, the Cat soared high into the air and took off like a bazookoid shot down the corridor after Rimmer, bowling Kryten over a second time. Kryten again staggered to his feet, apologized profusely, and dizzily raced after the pair. Lister stared at the now-empty screen for a moment, trying to psychologically brace himself, before realizing that he had yet to actually lock the deck's doors or seal the tanks. Oh smeg!