You will meet a dark stranger... Covered in goo.

In an unchecked corner of the original Blue Dwarf, on a deck mostly
indistinguishable from any other, 4 scutters on their semi-regular
cleanup patrol had been on the job for 3 hours so far, and as usual
hadn't cleaned a thing.
In the middle of the deck, a single bolt reversed it's way up it's
thread, and plinked onto the deck.
Then another.
And another.
Four screws, now released from their snug housing in the deck floor
plating, now unused, now just pieces of metal rolling about.
The scutters, in keeping with their inherent unpredictability,
identifying this new mess on the floor, which wasn't there before, but
now was, decided to actually do something about it.
...And just as the floor panel lifted an inch, all 4 of the robotic
patrol posse rode up onto it - but not before the lifter's fingers had
poked out just enough to be jammed in the gap.
The scutters, not hearing the pained cries of "Smeg!", picked up a
bolt each, and stayed put. They obviously reasoned that if someone of
authority saw what a good job they'd done, they would get an extra
greasing. They also reasoned with a superstitious vigour, that if they
left the spot of this morning's triumph over trash, they wouldn't get
the credit for it. They had won the battle, but they dare not leave
the battlefield.
One scutter motioned to the other's, trying to communicate "Little
victories, my brothers. Little victories.", but unfortunately looked
more like a retarded sock puppet, and the message was not conveyed.
Unexpectedly, 10 feet away, another screw raised magically out of the
floor. The scutters raced to see who could get to it first.
As they did, the panel they had just been sitting on lifted fully, and
out climbed a man.
He was naked and covered from head to toe in a mucus like substance.
His hair was slicked back with it, and he was shivering uncontrollably
from the cold and shock.
"H-h-h-how the s-s-smeg d-d-did I g-get here?" he stammered, as he
inspected the goo all over himself.
"I n-n-need to f-find some c-clothes" he said to himself, and
proceeded to walk down the corridor, each step slipping a bit. He
found a staircase that appeared to lead to a shopping area, noted due
to the distant sound of a crowd, and bright lights.
Hunched over, arms crossed in front in an effort to stay warm, he
slowly made his way down the Promenade. Extremely self conscious of
his appearance, he tried in vain to cover himself up, as most of the
crew stopped mid sentence to stare.
One hand was not enough.
Neither was two.
"Smeg it." He said, and crossed his arms again.
"I might make some friends." He thought, and carried on.
"Actually," he paused and looked down, "That's bigger than I remember
it being. Go me!"
He smiled, and made his way to the nearest clothing store.
"I'd like some clothes please."
"Dude, you smell like sex."
"I what?"
"Stag night?"
"What?! No! I, um..." he paused, memories eluding him, "...I don't
actually know."
"Your mates would have had to pay extra for that... phwoar... Lucky
sod."
"Are you quite finished?"
"Right. So when's the wedding? If it's today, I can hire you a tux,
but you'll be paying extra for cleaning unless you take a shower,
mate."
"I'm not getting married! And I don't even know what this is!", he
tried flicking the excess from his hands.
"Exactly – That's why I don't want to be the one to clean it off.
Hence the charge - and mind the carpet – it ain't been stain proofed
yet."
"Listen. I don't want a tuxedo. I just want a shirt and some pants.
Now."
"Ok, ok – don't get your cock in a knot." The shopkeeper paused and
glanced over the counter, "...And I see that you could."
"Get the clothes and I won't forcefeed your register to you."
"Alright, I'm going! I'm going." The shopkeeper said, doing his best
"Don't shoot me!" pose with his hands in the air.
The clothes fitted ok, but the slime made the fabric cling to his
skin. He made his way out of the store and back onto the Promenade.
"This is foul. Where do I live again?" he said, miserably.
A screen nearby clicked itself on.
"Christopher John Zodar. You live near Engineering. Well, I say live –
you haven't in a while. Welcome back, mate." Holly said emphatically.
"Holly, right?" Zodar asked for confirmation, to which the head on
screen nodded as best it could. Zodar's memory was slowly starting to
come back, and a familiar face had jogged it.
"Not so great to be back; at least not at the moment. Can you give me
directions? I can't remember much."
"No problem." Replied Holly, and the remaining screens on the
promenade changed to display arrows pointing in the direction of
Engineering.
<TAG! Zo's back! If someone wants to join in on the slippery fun
Zodar's having at the moment, maybe intercept him before he cleans
himself up, be my guest. Just don't conclude what it actually turns
out to be. I have a punning clan...>