Chapter Text
Lister put the chicken down and looked again at the contents of the garbage pod. The revolting smells assaulted his nostrils, making him want to gag. He pinched his nose and soldiered on. It was worth it, just to watch Rimmer's face. He wasn't about to let a few smells ruin his fun. Besides, he'd smelt worse down the gents' outside the disco bar in the early hours of the Saturday mornings, back when the crew was alive.
Scrabbling amongst the mess, searching for some appropriately stupid item to tease Rimmer with, he uncovered several empty styrofoam cups, still dripping with congealed coffee residue. He shoved them aside, rummaged through the half-crushed, greasy chip packets, stinking half-eaten fillets of battered cod, slimy chicken nuggets, crunched up sticky beer cans, umpteen cigarette stubs and... what was that box-shaped container, glinting mysteriously amongst the discarded nappies, the rotten sushi and melted ice cream and mouldy salad slush? An entire box set of Downtown Abbey, in mint condition, still sealed in its plastic wrapper!
Lister paused. He could deal with digging through sludge and muck. He took the disgusting and the vomit-inducing in his stride. He could choke back his bile without a second thought - all in pursuit of the greater good - but even he had limits. He shoved the box away, not wanting to look at it if he didn't have to.
Then his hand brushed against something long, thin and stringy, and when he drew it back in surprise, he found a viny plantlike thing wrapped around his finger.
He tried to pull it off, but the vine snapped back like a magnet and wrapping itself around his wrist. “What the sm–?” Again Lister attempted to disentangle himself, but the more he tried to untangle himself from the thing, the harder it clung to him. Its viney tendrils reached out, climbing and spiralling around and around, and within seconds his whole arm it had wrapped up his whole arm and half of his shoulder.
“Lister!” came Rimmer's impatient voice from the other side of the glass. He looked up. Rimmer glared back at him, eyes narrow and nostrils wide. “What are you doing?!” Rimmer scolded him.
“It's not me!” Lister protested. “It's this plant, man, it's trying to eat me!” He grabbed the plant with one hand and gave it a tug. If he could pull the plant one way and pull his body the other, maybe the brute force would rip the vines off... but, no, they just wrapped themselves even more tightly around his arm.
He tried his foot. Gripping the edge of the pod for support, Lister lifted one foot, stamped down on a section of vine and pressed it down. He then violently yanked his other arm back, hoping to snap the plant in two.
No luck. The vine reached out with its spiralling tendrils and wove itself around his ankle. Lister jumped back, and the vine climbed up his leg.
“Augh!!” He tried to run, but the plant stopped him, twisting itself around the sole of his foot and yanking him. He fell flat on his face. Dazed and bruised, he cracked open his eyes, and looked up. Rimmer stared down at him from beyond the glass. From this view, Lister could see right up his cavernous nostrils.
“Aliens!” Rimmer proclaimed.
Aliens. Lister would have shrugged and rolled his eyes. It was hard to do that whilst pinned to the floor by a ravenous plant. “Rimmer!” he yelled. “Help me!” He tried to reach out, but the plant pinned his arm to his side, immobilising him.
“Well, now,” said Rimmer, adopting that infuriatingly self-satisfied tone he reserved for situations when someone else was in trouble and he had no in intention of lifting a finger help them. “If you want my opinion, you deserve everything you get. Perhaps you'll think next time before sticking your fingers into places where no finger had been stuck before.”
By now the vine had woven itself about Lister's chest. It pressed down against his ribcage, and it was getting hard to suck in air. “I can't breathe!” he choked. “Rimmer! Get me out of here!”
Rimmer pursed his lips, one hand cupped to his chin in thought, and didn't say anything. A smile began to spread across his smug face.
“Rimmer!” Lister cried desperately as the vine began spiralling up his other leg too. “This plant's trying to make me into its pre-lunch snack! I can hardly breathe, man! Rimmer! Do something!!”
Ignoring Lister, Rimmer turned to look up at the computer screen on the wall. “Holly, what is it?” he asked.
“Don't know, Arn,” came the computer's dull voice over the ship's speakers.
“You don't know?”
“Well,” Holly said non-committally, “not without running a deeper analysis on it, anyway.”
“And does it present a danger to the crew?” Rimmer asked. His voice contained the same sort of glee one might use when asking if the sausages came a free helping of chips. Lister could have punched him.
“RIMMER!” Lister hollerred at the top of his voice. It took every ounce of effort he could muster just to get a single breath out. “This thing is strangling me! Help!”
“Yes,” said Holly, answering Rimmer. “Whatever it is, it originated from inside the pod and it's growing larger with every second that passes. At its present rate of growth, it will consume Lister within one hour, after which it will move on to devour the rest of the ship and its crew.”
“Right, that's it,” Rimmer said decisively. “Seal the doors.”
Lister looked up, horrified. “You're gonna lock me in here?!”
Rimmer's tone now took on the air of a patient school teacher explaining a simple concept to an unruly five year old. “That thing has to be quarantined, Lister,” he said. “We can't let it have access to the rest of the ship. You heard what Holly said. It'll consume the entire ship! Scutters! Get this door shut! Quickly!”
“Rimmer, NO!!” Lister tried to scramble to his feet, but the vine quickly tugged him back to the floor. “RIMMER!!”
A gush of noise bore down, signalling the locking of the door. The room was now cut off, quarantined from the rest of the ship – garbage pod, man-eating-plant, Lister and all. “So,” said Rimmer, turning to face Holly's screen. “Holly, how long will it take to do your analysis?”
“Oh, about an hour or so. Give or take.”
“Alright then,” now Rimmer's voice took on that pompous tone he used when he was pretending to be a superior officer as opposed to a superior chicken-soup-machine repair guy. “I shall be returning in an hour to view your progress.” He saluted his silly salute, then turned his back, making for the exit.
Lister was aghast. “You're just gonna leave me in here with this... thing?!” He watched, helpless, as Rimmer walked away from him. “You slimy dog faced weasely little c–”