Rimmer stood at Starbug's airlock, bazookoid in hand, and glared. He glared at Kryten's impassive, burnished form. He glared at Lister, fumbling with his spacesuit and taking twice as long as he should to get the blasted thing fastened. He glared at the airlock, which would shortly be opening to reveal the hatchway of a wrecked ship he could then glare at. Rimmer loved dangerous missions, full of risk and the opportunity for heroism, as long as he was not actually on them. The only thing he liked less than a dangerous mission that he was forced to be on was a dangerous mission that he was forced to be on that he considered unnecessary.

The latter two did tend to overlap significantly.

He had very logical and rational arguments pertaining to why this mission was unnecessary. They had food. In fact, they had enough smegging curry to keep Lister flatulent for five years, according to Kryten. All they really needed off of that ship was fuel, and they could link up with the tank and siphon it off externally. There was no need for them to risk whatever horrors might dwell on that thing for a glorified looting trip. He presented his case very calmly and rationally at the meeting in the midsection, and the other three very calmly and rationally ignored it. He then threw an uncalm and irrational hissy fit, and he and Lister had a slanging match. It started on the subject of Lister's boredom and cabin fever versus Rimmer's caution, moved to the subject of Lister's irresponsibility and Rimmer's cowardice, touched briefly on hypothesized past and potential future sexual relations, and ended on a good note with Lister telling Rimmer that they would be exploring the wreck, and that was final, and Rimmer inviting Lister to explore self-intercourse.

They had only recently started bunking together again, and Rimmer spent a rather tight-lipped evening staring at the ceiling and contemplating moving his accoutrement back to the third sleeping cabin. It seemed to irritate Kryten to have him sharing a room with Lister again, though, and that was worth an uncomfortable silence every now and then.

Rimmer valiantly agreed to man Starbug while the other three explored the ship. However, as a final tweak of his nose, he was informed by Kryten that Cat would be manning the ship while Rimmer accompanied Lister and Kryten on the salvage expedition. Apparently, they were all very impressed by how his hard-light drive stood up to the grenade. And gave me a month-long stomach-ache, Rimmer groused internally.

Lister finally finished screwing on his helmet, and gave the thumbs-up. Kryten pressed the cycle button, and the air whooshed out of the lock. Rimmer had not yet gotten out of the habit of holding breath he didn't need when entering a vacuum or water, and had to force himself to relax as the outer door opened.

The wrecked ship truly was wrecked. The hull was split right next to the airlock, exposing a stretch of corridor. Lister shot a mooring rope with a magnetized end towards the hull, and missed. Rimmer groaned; it went no further than his simulated vocal cords in the vacuum. Lister reeled the rope in and re-shot; this time it smacked into the hull next to the rip with a dull clang.

His voice buzzed somewhere in the middle of Rimmer. The hologram hated the radio interface with his light bee. "Sorry; I haven't had anything to drink yet." Rimmer made another noiseless groan as Lister anchored his end of the line and crossed hand-over-hand over to the ship, activating his magnetic boots and landing on the corridor floor with a clank. Rimmer slung the bazookoid behind his back and crossed his arms, nodding for Kryten to go next. The mechanoid shook his head and crossed as Lister had. Rimmer followed, clutching the line tightly with sweaty hands and delivering a quick prayer of thanks to St. Barnacle, the patron saint of leeches, as he landed next to the other two. He had no magnetic boots, and his light bee's grav-hover was slightly disconcerted by the weak gravity of the asteroid the ship had crashed on. He swayed on his feet, regained his balance, and looked at Lister. He tapped his foot impatiently on the deck.

Lister looked positively thrilled to be in an airless, debris-strewn, unlit corridor. He peered around. "There you are then!"

Rimmer sighed and clutched at his bazookoid. "Yes. See anything lovely? Neither do I."

"Keep yer knickers on; we've only been here two seconds."

"Precisely two seconds too long," Rimmer groused. Knowing Lister, they would probably traipse around this wreck for hours, poking into every greasy corner and rotting mattress. Hell, it probably reminded Lister of home. Rimmer jiggled one foot nervously.

Lister gazed down the corridor with considerable excitement, as though he were expecting Father Christmas to be hiding somewhere down there. Rimmer, of course, was nervous as always, and it annoyed Lister, even more than usual. What would it take to make the man just smegging relax? "Dunno what yer complaining about; you're already dead."

"Doesn't leave me with much to lose, does it?" Rimmer asked, testily. He glanced up and down the murky corridor.

Ignoring Mr. Charisma, Lister turned to Kryten. "Wadda ya reckon, Krytes? Should we split up?"

Kryten nodded. "Yes, that sounds most prudent. You and I can take the left-hand corridor."

"No smegging way!" Rimmer interjected. The only thing worse than being forced to explore a strange and potentially dangerous wreck would be to be forced to explore a strange and potentially dangerous wreck by himself. A party of two means half the chance of getting unexpectedly shot.

"Yeah, I'm with Rimmer," Lister sneered. "You can't leave him here and expect him to go off on his own. He'll just stay put and shiver in a corner like the smegging coward he is." He made a face, invisible beneath his helmet, but he hoped the sour note in his voice would project it straight into the goit's skull.

Rimmer rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "Just because I happen to have an ounce of self-preservation..."

"Exploring derelicts is having self-preservation, man! We've been over this," Lister spat, irate. Not this again, he thought with some desperation.

"Not when all we need is fuel," Rimmer grumbled. "You're just looting. Hoping to find some spangles or baubles to dress up that grotty leather jacket." Which would be fine, only you dragged me into it, Rimmer added, silently.

"Rimmer, I'm not a smegging magpie!" Lister felt himself beginning to sulk. "Look, let's just get going, all right?" He hated being sulky! It was just, being around Rimmer lately just seemed to get him on edge. They didn't fight as much as they used to, but there was something in the air. He chewed his lower lip.

Kryten did not look in the least bit happy with this arrangement. "Sir, are you sure that's a good idea?" He eyed Rimmer, his Visual Expression Emulator in Suspicion Mode.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Lister grumbled. He just wanted to get on with it.

"If you really think so, sir..." Kryten replied, every part of his body except his voice indicating that Lister should probably think it through again. Lister pointedly ignored him.

Rimmer tapped his foot again. In theory, his solution should make everybody pleased. "Look, how about you two split up, and I go back to the ship? I think that's a lovely idea."

"Shut it, you!" Lister shouted, a little too harshly than he'd intended. So much for theory, Rimmer thought. "Kryten; he's coming with me. I don't trust him on his own." Rimmer tried to glare a hole in Lister's spacesuit.

Kryten shouldered his bazookoid, looking dejected. "Very well. Keep in radio contact." Lister nodded and reassured the mechanoid that he would. Kryten walked down the left-hand corridor, glancing frequently over his shoulder at Rimmer and Lister.

"You don't trust me?" Rimmer groused as they walked down the right-hand corridor. "Think I'll nick some slimy bauble without giving you first bagsies?"

"No, I think you'll stick yer tail between yer legs and leggit at the first sign of what yer paranoid mind tells you is trouble," Lister retorted easily.

"Yes? And?"

Lister sighed. "Come on." He increased the pace, and Rimmer had to hurry in his wake. They hadn't gone further than fifty meters or so before Lister's radio crackled to life.

"Sir?" Kryten's voice could be heard in both Lister's helmet and Rimmer's light bee. Rimmer's hand involuntarily flew to his stomach; it felt like someone was trapped inside his abdominal cavity.

"Yeah, Krytes?" Lister answered.

"Just checking in to make sure everything is A-OK." The mechanoid sounded cheerful; too cheerful, like he was trying to assure the passengers of the Titanic that everything was swell and fine, and that they would soon be serving cocktails and snacks to get everyone's mind off that pesky ice-berg.

"Yes, Kryten," Lister sighed, "we're fine."

"Don't hesitate to call if anything happens." He paused. "You know, just any little thing! Can't be too careful on these rusty old ships, you know." He laughed, a patently fake, hollow laughter, which made Lister shudder a little.

"Yeah, man, I know." Lister shook his head, and broke contact. Sometimes he worried a little about the mechanoid. He felt very much like a teenager on his first date, being hounded by his mum. Rimmer raised his eyebrows, but Lister just turned and kept on walking, with Rimmer hovering warily at his shoulder. The damaged walls, with their odd texture and funny looking bits and bobs, practically invited Lister to poke at them, and he did so frequently, with keen interest.

Rimmer kept back from the walls, holding his bazookoid warily. "Fantastic idea for a holiday," he grumbled. "Trudge through a long-trashed spaceship poking at the space-lichen growing on the walls." He eyed Lister's exploration of the latter with distaste.

"We're not on holiday, Rimmer." Lister was starting to feel like he could use one though; far away from sad-git holograms that dragged everything down.

"You are," Rimmer replied. It boggled the mind. Lister could not be more bored by amateur Hammond Organ recital night, but he considered poking around rusty ships to be brilliant entertainment. Rimmer noted a grime-encrusted door and lengthened his stride, hoping to pass it before Lister saw it.

"Hang on a bit!" said Lister, stopping and squinting ahead towards the grimy rectangle.

"Lister..." Rimmer sighed.

"That's a door, there!"

"Yes..." Rimmer replied, warily. Lister hurried towards it. "Wait!" Rimmer barked. "You don't know what's in there!"

Lister brushed at the grime on the door, looking for signs of what might be on the other side. Eventually, a faded standard biohazard sign emerged, looking somewhat worse for wear. Rimmer nodded at it. "Well, that's that."

Lister grinned. To him the faded sign read only "Fun", and he started pushing eagerly at the door. It did not move. He pushed harder.

"Lister!" Rimmer said, with exasperation. "What the smeg are you doing? That's a research laboratory!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Lister asked. "I can see it's a laboratory; that's how come I want to get into it!"

"What does it look like you're doing? It looks like you're trying to release some ancient biological weapon of terror that has been seething behind that door for a hundred years."

"Or," Lister replied with exaggerated optimism and excitement, "it could be they found the cure for death."

"Lister, that sign is the universal symbol for 'biohazard.' It is not the universal symbol for 'tasty and delightful things within.'"

Lister shrugged. "That doesn't mean it's still dangerous, though."

"And it doesn't mean it's still not liable to rip your head off and use it as a football."

It was too tempting. "Why don't you go in first, then?" Lister crossed his arms as best he could in the bulky suit, waiting for Rimmer's hopefully amusing reaction.

"I happen to like my body."

Lister looked at the body in question. For a moment, a different sort of reply hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but he landed safely on "Yer not exactly biological, though. It's not going to hurt you, whatever it is, is it?"

"I could still catch a holo-virus," Rimmer replied. "Gingham is not me."

Lister shuddered, as images of penguin puppets danced in his mind. "Yer right about that."

The crackle of the radio startled them both, making Rimmer jump slightly, and Lister loose his balance. "Sir?" The worry in Kryten's voice was unmistakable this time.

"Yes, Krytes, what is it?" Lister answered, slightly exasperated.

"Just checking in to make sure everything is A-OK." The cheerfulness was back, with the worry playing in the background like a badly tuned guitar.

"We're fine, Kryten," Lister said, firmly, waving his hands pointlessly for emphasis.

"I'm glad to hear it!" Again, there was a hesitant pause, wherein Lister coughed a little less than politely. "Well... Don't hesitate to call if anything happens," Kryten said, reluctantly. "I'll be waiting by the..."

Lister cut the connection. "For smeg's sake!"

Rimmer had been scraping away at more of the grime during the conversation. Lister craned his neck to see if anything interesting would show up. "Authorized personnel only," Rimmer read. "Clearance code phi. Well, you can't go in there anyway, Listy. You're not authorized." An easy solution.

Lister pushed at door again, swearing when it refused to budge. "Lister, you'd be violating the clearance!" Rimmer hissed through his teeth. Seeing a small inset handle, Lister pulled at it until the door opened. He flashed his torch inside.

"Here's me violating it, 'Sir'." The word came out as something between a parody of Rimmer's thick Ionian accent and a childish taunt. "Better report me to the captain, eh?" Light played over beakers and test tubes and columns and computers, mostly smashed and scattered about. Glass crunched underfoot as Lister gingerly walked in, looking around for something to annoy Rimmer with. It had, he decided, become his main mission for this outing.

Rimmer watched from the door, going slightly mad with frustration. "Look, Listy! Smashed storage containers everywhere! Smeg only knows what's splashed around!"

The light from Lister's torch played over the confusing mess, reflecting from broken glass and plasti-glass. "That could be from ages ago, though."

"Viruses can stay virulent for ages. Do you want to turn into the Fly?"

Lister considered this. "Might not be bad. It'd be neat to be able to climb walls and that." It'd be a change. God, he'd do anything for a change!

"It'd certainly improve your looks."

"Yeah, yeah!" Picking up a test tube from the ground, Lister held it up to the light. A blue liquid sparkled inside. "Hey, pretty, innit?"

Rimmer gritted his teeth and walked into the room, wincing at the glass that crunched underfoot. "Look at this place! I bet it's swimming with engineering products gone wrong that will do all kinds of strange things to you." He paused and considered. "Well, stranger than the things you do to yourself already."

"What do you care, anyway?" Lister asked, tucking the blue tube into a crook in his arm. "I'm a 'lazy goited piece of space-junk with cabin fever,' remember?"

Rimmer grimaced. He bent down and picked up a smashed test tube from the wreckage, reading off of its label. "Painful human death virus. Designed to penetrate spacesuits."

Lister snorted. "Yer yankin' my chain." He knew Rimmer too well. Far, far too well.

"Well, it might very well say that. I can't read it."

"What do you mean, you can't read it?" Lister sniggered. "Is it in Esperanto?"

Rimmer gave Lister a scathing look. "It looks like Latin. Now, if it were Greek, and pertained to harems, my time with Alexander the Great would come in handy."

"Yeah, shame that," Lister said, wearily. Looking down, he found a tube with a deep red liquid by his left foot. By his right, a beaker with only a little bit of space-lichen clinging to it urged him to pick it up, and he did so, pouring the two tubes sloppily into the beaker. The streams met and exploded with a satisfying bang and a puff of purple smoke, sending him reeling back, and almost crashing into Rimmer. Rimmer jumped a foot, and landed in a pile of glassware. Lister laughed, waving away the smoke, wishing he could smell it, as Rimmer struggled to regain his balance, beakers and jars and smeg only knows what else crunching below his feet.

"You stupid smegging impulsive brainless nitwit jerkoff scumbag! Stop messing about!" Rimmer hollered.

"Aw, yer no fun, man," Lister giggled.

Rimmer regained his footing and glared at Lister. "I may be no fun, but at least I'm still..." he came to a halt as he realized that the clichè did not work. He bit his lip and frowned.

"What?" prodded Lister. "Alive? Sparkling with charisma?"

"Are you quite done here?" Rimmer grated.

The scouser gave an awkward, space-suited shrug. "I guess so. I was hoping to find a book on bioweapons. The recipes help with making curries, sometimes." Taking one final look around, Lister made a non-committal noise, and walked back out into the corridor. Rimmer was on his heels, and took an airless breath of relief once out of the laboratory.

As on cue, the radio crackled to life again. Lister grit his teeth as that mock-cheerful voice boomed into his head once more. "Mister Lister, Sir? Is everything all right?"

Lister banged his helmeted head against a wall. "Well no, it isn't, actually. Rimmer's got me pinned up against the wall - I think he's trying to kill me."

Kryten's voice rose into a squeal of fright. "Mister Lister! I'll be right there!" The sounds of pounding feet came over the radio before the call was cut.

Rimmer's mouth was agape. "What the smeg?"

Lister shook his head. "Bloody nanny-bot!"

"Lister, what are you up to?"

Lister tapped the radio button. "Never mind, man, false alarm. We're heading back your way."

The sound of pounding metal feet was still audible. "False alarm? I think he's just trying to trick you, sir. Don't move!" The radio cut back out.

Rimmer slung the bazookoid across his back. "Lister, you have the sense of humor of a rugby coach. 'Look, they're ripping his leg off! Hilarious!'"

Lister giggled. He stopped as a gentle thudding echoed through the metal of the corridor. Both he and Rimmer strained to analyze it. It was becoming less gentle every moment. Lister tried to peer through the dim corridor. He tapped his radio button. "That you, Krytes? We're all right; I was just messing about." He paused and tapped the button again. "That's strange; no answer..."

Kryten hove into view as the pounding shook the corridor. He was moving at a dead run, and hit Rimmer with a flying tackle. Lister jumped back as Rimmer and Kryten flew through the weak gravity until they hit the wall that Kryten had been aiming for. The mechanoid jumped back and turned his bazookoid on Rimmer, his eyes almost alight with fury and what looked like pure android insanity.

"Kryten, erm..." Lister moved cautiously forward. Rimmer had 'landed' on the bazookoid that was slung across his back, and was very much not enjoying himself at the moment.

"...You might want to put that down," Lister concluded.

Kryten looked over at Lister solicitously. "Are you sure you're OK, Mister Lister?"

Lister spread his arms. "I look it, don't I?" He added, emphatically, "Yes. Yes, I'm just fine."

Rimmer groaned and started to peel himself away from the wall. "In about two minutes, when my back straightens, he's not going to be."

"We'll see about that," Lister retorted. Kryten, meanwhile, had noted the door Lister was standing next to. "Mister Lister - you didn't go in there, did you?"

Rimmer tried to bend forwards. He was very testy and very sore; the latter influencing the former strongly. "Oh, yes, microbrain just had to play in a biolab."

Kryten shook his head. "Oh, I knew I should have come with you. Playing in a biolab!" He sighed. "Well, the JMC spacesuits are virion-proof. Mister Lister should be safe."

Rimmer grimaced, still trying to bend down far enough to rest his hands on his thighs. "What about me?"

Kryten looked at Rimmer with confusion. "What about you?"

Lister mimicked Rimmer. "What about meee! I keep telling ya, yer not a biological entity!"

Rimmer glared at them both. He was being ganged up upon by a subordinate and an electronic toilet-scrubber. "Did you find anything, bogbot?"

Kryten nodded. "I did find their food stores. Unfortunately, it consisted wholly of anchovies and beet soup. I believe it was an attempt to simplify alphabetized cargo lists."

"Why do we always have to alphabetize them, anyway?" Lister whined. It had always seemed absurd and nonsensical to him, but then again, Lister had never read the Space Corps Directives either.

Rimmer shook his head. "No sense of discipline or order. That's the only way to survive, in deep space!"

"Yeah, because eating food prepared out of alphabetical order will kill ya straight!"

"Slippery slope, Listy..."

Kryten hurried to interrupt. "I think we should take the food supplies and call it a successful salvage."

"Let's skip the anchovies," Rimmer recommended. "If Lister develops a taste for curried anchovies, I'm finding another ship."

Kryten made a mental note to look up curried anchovy recipes. "The supplies are near the rift, sir. With a bit of coordination, we should be able to just propel them across as we cross the line."

Rimmer straightened, gingerly. "There isn't enough coordination in this group to tie a bow knot." He stalked back to the rendezvous point.

Lister shook his head and patted the mechanoid on the back. "Come on Krytes... let's get those anchovies on their way." He had the feeling it was going to be a long day.